


Absolutely Smitten

by cavedinwriter



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (Not really Jon's just dumb), AU, And maybe some good poetry? We'll see, Background Relationships, Bad Poetry, Crack Treated Seriously, Daisy isn't a cop bcs acab, Fluff, Just a nice wholesome AU, M/M, Martin and Sasha are best friends, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Way more lonelyeyes than was intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24533263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cavedinwriter/pseuds/cavedinwriter
Summary: Martin Blackwood loved people. He was a caretaker by nature, so it only seemed right that he would end up with a job that allowed him to bring comfort to people. He did it in one of the most tangible ways: food. Martin ran a diner on the outskirts of London. It was far enough away from the hustle and bustle of the city to be peaceful, but close enough to get a steady stream of patrons. In only a few short years of running it, he’d gathered a large amount of loyal customers who he knew by name.****Just a wholesome AU where Martin owns a diner! It's got pining, shenanigans, and a little bit of mystery solving, and much more. This is purely self-indulgent and fluffy.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 138
Kudos: 392





	1. Smothered in Love

**Author's Note:**

> Just a lil bit of setup kinda! I don't know how anything works so if I make some mistake about how diners work,,,, oops?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin Blackwood loved people. He was a caretaker by nature, so it only seemed right that he would end up with a job that allowed him to bring comfort to people. He did it in one of the most tangible ways: food. Martin ran a diner on the outskirts of London. It was far enough away from the hustle and bustle of the city to be peaceful, but close enough to get a steady stream of patrons. In only a few short years of running it, he’d gathered a large amount of loyal customers who he knew by name.  
> ****  
> Just a wholesome AU where Martin owns a diner! It's got pining, shenanigans, and a little bit of mystery solving, and much more. This is purely self-indulgent and fluffy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a lil bit of setup kinda! I don't know how anything works so if I make some mistake about how diners work,,,, oops?  
> **Edit**  
> I've edited this chapter a tiny bit! Not much, just fixed a few errors I noticed, nothing that changes the story in any way.

Martin Blackwood loved people. He was a caretaker by nature, so it only seemed right that he would end up with a job that allowed him to bring comfort to people. He did it in one of the most tangible ways: food. Martin ran a diner on the outskirts of London. It was far enough away from the hustle and bustle of the city to be peaceful, but close enough to get a steady stream of patrons. In only a few short years of running it, he’d gathered a large amount of loyal customers who he knew by name.

The diner was called  _ Smothered in Love _ , a name that he and Sasha had settled on together. Sasha didn’t own the place with him, but she’d been there since day one and was his right-hand woman.  _ Smothered in Love _ was a fairly small building, with room for two long tables, a bar, and several booths along the window. Since both Martin and Sasha liked yellow, the whole place was soft yellows and oranges contrasted with rich browns and reds. Martin wanted it to feel as homey as possible, an effect which he was pretty sure was succeeding.

Georgie, who worked mostly in the kitchen, often remarked on how cozy it felt.

_ “It’s like I’m walking into a hug from my grandma.” She had once said. _

_ “Are you calling me a grandma?” Martin had replied, pretending to be offended. _

Martin really, truly loved it. He loved his employees, he loved his patrons, and he loved cooking for them. Everything about the job suited him. It was a predictable job, too, which was nice for someone like him. He loved getting to know people and watching them settle into their routines, finding their own little nooks and crannies in the diner. Most people who came in were easy going and friendly, which made his job easier. Occasionally someone truly entertaining would come by, but Martin liked those moments too. After all, life couldn’t be boringly fluffy all the time.

The first time he’d met Daisy, for instance, had been one of those times. She’d come in and immediately Martin had smelled trouble. She was a tall, broad woman who’d looked on the verge of boiling over when she walked in. She ordered her food easily enough and had seemed to be enjoying herself, but then an old man made a… distasteful comment about her haircut and she’d nearly broken one of Martin’s plates over his head.

Thankfully Martin himself stepped in before any real damage could be done. He successfully de-escalated the situation and kicked the old man out. He’d introduced himself properly to Daisy and informed her that he wouldn’t stand for any bullshit, so if someone bothered her again she should talk to him and not deal with it herself. She had grudgingly agreed, and Martin found himself surprisingly pleased when she returned the next week.

It had been a while since anything truly entertaining had happened in Martin’s life, though. The days were beginning to blend together as they did when nothing changed for a while. He was still happy, of course, but it was a stagnant sort of happiness that left something to be desired. There was nowhere for him to  _ put _ that happiness, that energy, except for his work. He poured all his love into food, as he always did, but it wasn’t enough. So… he started writing poetry. He’d always been a fan of it. It was something that he could turn to for simple comfort in beautiful words, or when he felt lost and needed some sort of meaning. He’d never tried writing his own before, so this would be a new adventure.

He told Sasha about it one morning at work, while she and Georgie and Melanie were in the kitchen getting ready. Georgie and Melanie were busy in one corner talking amongst themselves.

“Really? You, a poet?” She looked him up and down as they prepared the kitchen for the day, “Yeah, I can see it. I mean, you’ve probably got half the poetry in the world memorized by now, I’m sure you can write your own.”

“Haha, I don’t know if that’s how it works.”

“Well only one way to find out! Can I read some of it?” She asked. Martin flushed.

“Oh, no. I’m… I only started this week, Sasha, I’m not very good.”

“Come on! You’ve got a way with words, I know that much. I mean, nobody’s as good at coaxing information out of people as you are.”

“That’s  _ different _ ,” He insisted, “Making people feel nice in conversation is one thing. But- creating feelings with words, it’s entirely different!”

“Right. I suppose you would know.” Sasha said with a roll of her eyes, “But I still want to read some. Maybe not soon, but sometime.”

“Alright, alright.” He conceded. She gave him a self-satisfied smirk. Their prep work was done and Martin went to the door to unlock it and switch the sign to open. No sooner had he than someone was already walking up to the door. Martin shook his head fondly and walked back to the kitchen, calling,

“Sasha, your boyfriend’s here!”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” She shouted back immediately. Martin laughed. Said not-boyfriend opened the door.

“Martin! Good to see you!”

“Bright and early as always, Tim,” Martin greeted him, “Would you like me to take your order or should I get Sasha for you?”

“You know me too well.” Tim grinned. Martin smiled back and went to the kitchen to get Sasha. She shot him a glare as she went out, but her expression brightened as soon as she saw Tim. 

They quickly fell into their daily routine as more people made their way in. Martin stayed in the kitchen most of the time, as cooking was his favorite part of the job. As he went, he thought about his poetry. He hadn’t written much yet, for the simple fact that he didn’t know what to write  _ about. _ He couldn’t write about love because he wasn’t  _ in _ love, couldn't write about nature because he was too close to the city, couldn’t write about the struggles of humanity because he was a white dude who was in a pretty good place and happy most of the time. He supposed he could write about the things that made him happy. He could write about his diner, and his friends. A bit sappy, maybe, but then again that’s what poetry was for.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by Melanie coming back into the kitchen with another order. He smiled at her as she settled beside him to cook. After a while he went back out to the counter to take orders. As he did, something caught his eyes. A new face, stumbling through the door. Martin was 100% sure he’d never been to the diner before.

He was tall and lanky. His hair was black and streaked with gray, pulled back into a low ponytail with a dark red ribbon. His skin was a rich dark brown and his eyes felt heavy as they passed over the counter, then Martin, then the rest of the small diner. He looked tired and disheveled in a handsome sort of way. His clothes were just a bit on the loose side of well-fitting, a little wrinkled but otherwise still nice. In one arm he clutched a large spiral-bound notebook and a pen.

He made his way to the counter slowly, eyes trained up on the menu, scanning it. Nobody else was ordering, so he was the only one at the counter. He hung back awkwardly, clearly unsure of himself.

“It’s your first time here, huh? Would you like some recommendations?” Martin asked brightly. He always got excited about new faces.

“Oh. Yes. Yes, please.” The man looked down at him, startled.Martin tried not to flush under his heavy gaze.

“Sweet or savory?” He asked. 

“Savory.” The man replied instantly. Martin quirked an eyebrow.

“Alright. Well, our hashbrowns and sausage are absolutely delicious.”

“Ah- I, um, I don’t eat much meat anymore.” The man replied apologetically, shrinking in on himself. Martin noted that to himself. No meat, not anymore.

“Then I think our omelette would suit you better. Do you still want hashbrowns?”

“Yes, please.” The man looked surprised at Martin’s willingness to go along with his suggestions.

“Wonderful. Have a seat wherever you like, your food won’t be long.” 

“Thank you.” The man said, stepping back from the counter and surveying the room. Martin didn’t stay to watch where he sat, he went back to the kitchen to prepare his meal.

A few minutes later, Martin held a warm tray of food in his hands. He made his way through the tables, weaving around them to find where the man had sat himself. He was tucked into a corner booth, one of Martin’s favorite spots if he was being honest. A good place to observe both inside the diner and out, since it was right against the windows.

The man had his notebook open and was writing in it intently, barely noticing Martin approach. When he did, his head jerked up and he slid his notebook to the side to make room.

“Careful, it’s hot.” Martin cautioned as he placed the steaming plate in front of the man. 

“Looks delicious.” He commented. His face was stiff, neutral, but his voice sounded genuine. Martin knew his food was good, but his chest puffed a little bit with pride.

“Enjoy!” He said cheerily, leaving the man to his meal.

“Thank you.” He heard muttered as he left. Martin smiled to himself.

He caught himself glancing over at the man for the rest of the time he was there. He insisted to himself he was just checking in, making sure there wasn’t any trouble like there was with Daisy. Of course there wasn’t. The man was tall, but he wasn’t as threatening-looking as Daisy. In fact, he looked like a strong breeze could knock him over. Martin wondered what he was writing about in that notebook of his.

As he closed up that day, he found his mind drifting to poetry about him. He hummed to himself. It seemed he had found a possible subject to write about! His mind was buzzing as he made his way home, thinking of all the ways he could describe the man. He wished he’d gotten his name. Hopefully he would be back again and Martin could ask.

  
  


Poetry of Martin K. Blackwood. #1.

_ The window sits unopened _

_ For far too long _

_ Then the door opens _

_ Sunlight streaming in _

_ A new face _

_ Pick up the pace _

_ Pick up your smile _

_ Brown eyes heavy while _

_ Watching _


	2. Broken Plates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day was an ugly one, Martin could tell the moment he woke up. He felt sluggish as soon as he opened his eyes, and the light filtering in through the window was weak and white, suggesting a miserable cloudy day.   
> At around noon, the uncomfortable mood of the day finally felt appropriate. The door of the diner opened and the cold fog from outside rolled in. Martin shivered, turning his attention to the door. In came two men, one of whom Martin recognized as having come a few times before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Bitchtard and his husband make an appearance in this chapter. They're not that important I just love them so I had to put them in.

Surprisingly, Martin didn’t have to wait long to see the man again. He returned before the end of the week, dressed similarly but with a bit of stubble on his cheeks. He was gorgeous. Martin tore his eyes away and focused on taking orders. Eventually the man made it to the front of the line. Martin smiled at him brightly. The man’s lips curled up a little, but it couldn’t quite be called a smile.

“I’ll have the omelette again today. And do you have any tea?” The man asked.

“Oh, don’t get him started!” Sasha said as she passed, “‘Martin Blackwood’s Famous Tea!’ He’s right, though, it is delicious.”

“Thank you, Sasha,” Martin glared, “And yes, we do have tea.”

“Great.”

“So, one omelette and one cup of tea?” Martin confirmed. The man nodded, “Wonderful. I’ll get it to you soon!”

The man nodded and walked away. 

“I’ve got your food.” Martin said, just loud enough to alert the man who looked very focused on his writing. He jerked up, eyes wide. Then he focused, and his shoulders relaxed.

“Ah. Thank you.”

“By the way, I didn’t catch your name.” Martin said, putting the plate and cup down.

“Jonathan Sims. Jon. Oh!” The man’s- Jon’s- eyes widened after he took a sip of tea, “Martin Blackwood’s famous tea indeed. This is delicious.”

“Thank you, Jon.” Martin said. He tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach, instead focusing on the way Jon’s name felt on his tongue. It felt good, he decided. It felt good.

The rest of the morning passed in a pleasant yellow haze. Daisy came in and ordered her usual pancakes, bacon and sausage. Tim came in and flirted with Sasha. Martin took orders and cooked, took orders and cooked. Through it all, Jon remained in his corner. Every so often Martin glanced over and watched him scribbling furiously, hunched over his notebook. He pushed down the fondness that crept through him, trying to convince himself it was the usual happiness of watching a new customer settle in.

He noticed that Jon’s plate and cup were empty, but he was making no move to leave. He tapped Sasha on the shoulder to take over for him, and made his way over to Jon’s booth.

“Jon?” He asked. Jon didn’t hear him over the low roar of the now-busy diner, so he tried again, “Jon?”

“Martin,” His head snapped up, “Hello. Hi. Um.”

“Would you like another cup of tea?” Martin offered. Jon blinked, looking down at his empty cup, then his watch, then back at Martin.

“Ah. Yes, please. I didn’t realize how long I’d been sitting here.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Martin consoled, grabbing his cup, “I’ll be right back with your tea.” He could feel Jon’s gaze on his back as he left.

He returned soon enough with his tea, which Jon accepted with a grateful nod of his head. Martin left him to his writing. He fell back into the trance of work, and by the time he looked back over in the afternoon, Jon was gone. Martin tried not to feel disappointed. After all, he was sure he’d be back.

The next day was an ugly one, Martin could tell the moment he woke up. He felt sluggish as soon as he opened his eyes, and the light filtering in through the window was weak and white, suggesting a miserable cloudy day. 

He bundled himself up a little tighter in his scarf but forewent an umbrella, hoping it wouldn’t rain. Alas, he was wrong. The moment he was too far from his flat to consider returning for an umbrella, it started to rain. Thankfully it wasn’t pouring, just a pitiful little drizzle that made everything cling uncomfortably. The clouds felt like they hung low in the sky, choking in on everything and covering the buildings.

Sasha was waiting for him when he arrived. She had on a thick purple coat and was standing under a yellow umbrella. She gave him a weak smile when he approached.

“Morning, Martin.” She said. She sounded just as tired as he felt.

“It certainly is, though you wouldn’t know it from looking.” He remarked, taking his key and unlocking the doors. They walked inside and Martin immediately felt a little better. The bright walls of the building always comforted him. 

They prepared for the day in a damp silence. Even though it was better to be inside, there was still a strange heaviness in the air that kept them quiet. The rest of the employees came in and they opened, and still the heaviness remained.

Martin was well-practiced in keeping a sunny smile on his face even on the darkest of days, so if there were cracks in his facade, nobody noticed. The morning passed in a slow, gray grind. Martin kept looking to the windows, desperate for any hint of blue behind the clouds, but found none. He sighed to himself but returned to working.

At around noon, the uncomfortable mood of the day finally felt appropriate. The door of the diner opened and the cold fog from outside rolled in. Martin shivered, turning his attention to the door. In came two men, one of whom Martin recognized as having come a few times before. He was tall and broad, wearing a cream turtleneck and a thick blue coat. He took up most of the doorway as he came in. Martin tried to remember his name. He hadn’t been much of a talker, so Martin had to think a bit. Mr. Lukas, he was fairly sure. Behind him was a slimmer, shorter man wearing an elegant suit underneath a long green coat. His arm was looped around the arm of Mr. Lukas. Martin plastered on his sunniest smile, sensing the tension rolling off of both men. 

“Good afternoon!” He said cheerily as Mr. Lukas approached. Something that unnerved him about Mr. Lukas was his ability to match Martin’s faux-cheery tones, yet there was still something distinctly unfriendly about him. 

“Have a seat, dear,” The other man said, tapping Mr. Lukas’s shoulder, “I’ll get us something.”

Mr. Lukas walked away and left Martin staring at the other man. Martin decided immediately that he’d rather face Mr. Lukas than whoever this man- his… boyfriend? Husband, maybe, but he had a million rings so there was no telling if one of them was a wedding band. He made direct, piercing eye contact, unlike Mr. Lukas. His eyes were green and looked cruel. Martin tried to push away his judgements, the man hadn’t even spoken to him yet.

“Martin Blackwood, I presume.” The man said. Martin blinked. Had Mr. Lukas mentioned him or something?

“Uh, yes, that’s me. H-how did you-”

“I’ve heard a lot about this place. My husband is rather fond of it,” The man curled his lip on the word  _ husband _ , which Martin found strange. Didn’t they like each other? “So he dragged me here. I hope the food is as good as he says it is or this will have been a complete waste of time.”

“Right. Well. What can I get you?” Martin could only hope his voice wasn’t too much higher than normal. How was he supposed to respond to that? 

He ordered nonchalantly and left. Martin dropped his smile as soon as the man turned around. As he took the next few orders he watched out of the corner of his eye as the man sat down with Mr. Lukas. They settled into silence, but then the man started talking. They were bickering, it seemed, and Martin turned away. He didn’t like watching people squabble in his diner. He hoped they would have the decency to keep it down and not make too much of a disruption. He thought fondly back to Daisy as they continued to argue. Alas, clearly the two men were not like Daisy. He couldn’t see himself becoming fond of either of them.

Martin had the misfortune of being the one to bring Mr. Lukas and his mysterious husband their food. They were still arguing, more animatedly. Well, the other man was animated. Mr. Lukas was sitting with an expression that looked almost amused, occasionally talking back but mostly listening to his husband rant.

“-And another thing,  _ dear _ , just because I don’t like spicy foods does not make me a  _ wimp _ . You and I both know that if it came down to it, I can be just as effective at incapacitating a person as you could, I’m hardly a  _ wimp _ . I daresay that I’d be more effective about it, too.”

“Elias, really, I just wanted lunch.”

“Well you should’ve thought about that before you started this conversation up again!” Elias said. Martin stared awkwardly, trying to figure out if he should just put the food on the table and leave. The decision was made for him when Elias looked over at him, a surprising amount of anger blazing in his eyes. His lip curled when he saw Martin, who tried not to shrink in on himself too much.

“You know what, Peter, I’m not sure I trust your judgement on food enough to even eat this.” He said, standing up from the table. Martin was about to say something, but Elias continued, “I want another divorce.”

“Really, Elias? Here?”

“Yes  _ really _ , Peter. I don’t take kindly to slights against my character.”

“Slights against your- I said you were a wimp for not liking spicy food!” Peter said. Somehow his tone was still light.

“You did!” Elias cried, “That was completely uncalled for! I will be returning to collect my things. Goodbye, Peter.” Elias turned on his heel and left in a huff, brushing past a stunned Martin. His grip on the tray was already loose from shock, and Elias pushing past him was all it took for the plates to go tumbling to the floor. He winced. He looked around for help cleaning up. Somehow in the blink of an eye, Peter had disappeared after Elias. At least he had the decency to leave a surprisingly large tip on the table.

Thankfully Georgie came over and helped him pick up. It took longer than he would have liked. His hands were still trembling with confusion and slight shock as he picked up the last pieces of broken plates. He stood up and nearly knocked into someone.

“Martin?” Staring at him in surprise was Jon, clutching his notebook. He was wearing a brown coat that fit him very nicely. Martin gasped, nearly dropping the pieces of plate again.

“O-Oh! Jon! Hi, hello, I’m so sorry about this. Just had a- dropped some plates, happens every now and again. H-Have you already ordered?”

“Yes. Do… Do you need any help?” Jon offered, gaze flicking to the shards of plate in his grip.

“No, no thank you. We’re just about finished here. Thank you, though.”

“Right. Um. Sorry that you had to… yeah.” He trailed off awkwardly. Martin did his best to put on a smile, but he was frankly at the end of his rope. 

He felt a strange sense of calm settle over him after the mess was cleaned up, seeing Jon sitting in his corner. He had his long legs folded up awkwardly, notebook laid out on the table. 

“Hey, would you take his food to him?” Sasha appeared beside him with a plate in hand, “I’ve got to get back in the kitchen.”

“Of course.” Martin took the plate and meandered his way to Jon’s table. Jon looked up without prompting, this time. Martin found that his smile when he greeted Jon wasn’t forced.

“Thank you,” Jon said when he set the plate down, “You seemed pretty… stressed when I came in. Did something happen, with the plates?”

“Oh, just a bit of drama with some customers,” Martin waved his hand, “Nothing that hasn’t happened before. Well, actually, that’s not true. Never witnessed a divorce happen in real time, much less in my diner.”

“Really?” Jon’s eyebrows shot up. Martin leaned against the table.

“Yeah! I came to bring them their food, and one of them- His name was Elias, I think? I haven’t met him before, but his husband’s been here a few times before- well, ex-husband now, I suppose, but anyway, he was yelling something about spicy food, and then he just- left! Said something about wanting a divorce.  _ Another _ divorce, as if- Why are you laughing?” Martin felt his face flush as Jon’s eyes crinkled and he held back a snicker.

“No- no, it’s just- I think that was my boss.” He gasped out, still trying to hold back laughter. Martin blinked.

“Sorry, what?”

“Elias. Slim guy, dressed nice, lots of jewelry?” Jon asked and Martin nodded, “And his husband Peter. Big broad guy? Yeah. That’s- I’m sorry that you had to deal with it, but it really happens all the time.” Jon said. Martin was at a loss for words.

“Your- your boss? And- that just happens? So when he said  _ another _ divorce-”

“Yeah, it happens practically every other week.” Jon shrugged. Martin couldn’t hold back a shocked giggle. Jon’s face twitched a little when he did.

“Wow. Um. How do they… how do they have the money for it? I mean, aren’t divorces expensive? Seems like a lot of work if they’re just going to apparently get married again.”

“Peter’s… well, filthy rich, really. And they’re both dramatic.” Jon said.

“Huh. Well, you certainly must have a more exciting job than I do.”

“Oh, not really. Just that Elias is exciting.” Jon shook his head. His ponytail bounced adorably when he did. Martin tried not to stare.

“Well! It has been a strange day. I’ll let you get to your food.” Martin straightened up.

“Thank you.” Jon said, with a small smile. Martin turned and walked away to hide the growing redness of his face.

Poetry of Martin K. Blackwood #2

_ Cold grey clouds _

_ Boulders rolling, crushing _

_ Warm brown wood _

_ Solid and sturdy _

_ Heralding the return of the sun _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, we'll get to the actual plot next chapter I promise! I'm having a lot of fun writing this so I hope y'all are enjoying dsfhkjdh


	3. Sharing is Caring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ooh!” Georgie's face brightened. Martin raised his eyebrows.  
> “Oh no. I don’t like that face. That’s the Georgie-has-an-idea face.”  
> “Yeah it is,” She grinned, “You could get Sasha to give him one of the poems. Say it’s from a secret admirer.”  
> “What? No way! Absolutely not, that’s weird, a-and creepy, and-”  
> “It’s cute! It’s not creepy.”  
> “No, no way, nope. Not doing that.” Martin shook his head firmly.  
> And yet, somehow, he ended up handing off one of his poems to Sasha the next week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did NOT mean for this to take so long I'm sorry!! Next chapter will be more timely. (Also I'm sorry for the dumb chapter title jsdfhkdjh)
> 
> For the texting portions: Martin is Marto, Sasha is TheUnforgettable, and Tim is HoesTim.

“What are you smiling about, Blackwood?” Tim called from across the counter. Martin stuck his tongue out. It was late afternoon on a slow day. Jon had just been in, but Martin refused to tell Tim that was why he was smiling.

“I’m always smiling, Tim.” He retorted.

“Yeah, but you don’t always mean it,” Tim sidled up and poked a finger against his chest, “You mean it. I can tell.”

“Am I not allowed to be happy?” Martin protested. Sasha snorted, walking out of the kitchen and standing beside him.

“You are, but you’ve got a grin on your face even more than usual lately.”

“Has our dear Martin gotten himself a crush?” Tim said, raising an eyebrow. Martin desperately hoped his face wouldn’t betray him. He knew it did as soon as it started to grow hot.

“Methinks he has!” Sasha crowed triumphantly, slinging an arm around his shoulder. He groaned.

“Come on, is it really that obvious?” He buried his head in his hands.

“With you? Everything is. You wear your heart on your sleeve, buddy. It’s not a bad thing!” Tim consoled him.

“It just means I can’t keep a secret for shit.” He deadpanned back. Tim laughed heartily.

“Sure does. So, who is it? Do I know him?” Tim leaned forward. Martin pressed his lips into a tight line, refusing to expose himself further.

“I have a decent idea of who it is, actually.” Sasha waggled her eyebrows. Tim’s attention immediately turned to her.

“Oh?”

“Sasha!” Martin cried, betrayed.

“I didn’t say I’d tell.” She smirked. Tim looked exaggeratedly crestfallen.

“Noooo, Sasha!”

“Sorry Tim!” She said in a sing-song voice, “This secret’s between me and Martin!”

“That’s assuming you’re right.” Martin interjected. Sasha scoffed.

“Please. I know who it is.” She said.

“Really?” He crossed his arms.

“Yeah. There’s starting to be a pattern for the days you text me about your poetry.” She said meaningfully. Martin’s face turned red.

“I- Sasha!”

“Ohoho! Martin, you gonna let me read your love poems?” Tim said.

“T-They’re not lo-! Absolutely not!”

“He doesn’t even let me read it, he just tells me about it.” Sasha said. Martin crossed his arms.

“That’s- That’s enough! Enough of this. Tim, do you want food or are you just here to bully me?”

“Oh, food, for sure. I love you Martin, but not as much as I love food.”

“Same.” Sasha said. Martin pretended to be offended.

“Wow, alright then. I see how it is. What if I suddenly make you terrible food, hm? What’ll you do then?”

“Hm…” Tim leaned back on his heels, “I’d probably kidnap you, force you to teach me how to cook like you, and then burn down  _ Smothered in Love _ .”

“No!” Martin gasped, “You traitor.”

“I mean hey, if you’re not gonna feed me…” Tim shrugged.

“I’ll get right on that,” Martin took the opportunity to duck away, “You two have fun.” He left Sasha with Tim. He didn’t bother asking what he wanted since he already knew the answer. 

Poetry of Martin K. Blackwood, #3

_ Red and yellow streaming through the window _

_ Color my face, color the walls _

_ Subtle, subtle, till it’s not _

_ Color my feelings, color my thoughts _

_ Open door letting brown eyes in _

_ Chasing fog, my patience is thin _

_ But with the sun comes my mood again _

Martin knew he wasn’t very good at poetry yet. His poems felt disjointed and they really didn’t say what he wanted them to. He thought back to his conversation with Tim and Sasha. He  _ wasn’t _ writing love poems, he really wasn’t. Just… observational ones, and he happened to be observing a very handsome man. But maybe love poems would be interesting! Maybe he’d even be better at them. He decided to give it a shot.

_ Your gaze holds me down and keeps me there _

_ Fine by me, it’s safe down here _

_ Breaking my bubble of peace and filling it _

_ Light streams in- _

He put his pencil down and sighed. He barely knew anything about Jon, how the hell was he supposed to write a  _ love poem _ ? He leaned back in his chair, grabbing his phone to text Sasha.

_ Marto: Sasha heeeeeeelp _

_ TheUnforgettable: ??? _

_ Marto: I don’t know what I’m doing _

_ TheUnforgettable: Me neither. _

_ Marto: Unhelpful _

_ I meant poetry _

_ TheUnforgettable: Oh! Can I read it? _

_ Marto: No!!!!! _

_ TheUnforgettable: How am I supposed to help if I can’t read it? _

_ Marto: I’m just embarrassed, okay? I was thinking about what you and Tim were talking about _

_ Y’know _

_ Love poems _

_ TheUnforgettable: OMG MARTIN ARE YOU WRITING LOVE POEMS??? _

_ THAT’S SO ON BRAND AWWWW!!!! _

_ Marto: SHUT UP!!!! _

_ TheUnforgettable: No :) _

_ Marto: I hate you _

_ TheUnforgettable: I’m telling Tim he was right! _

_ Marto: NO!!!! _

**TheUnforgettable has created a new group chat: Bully Martin Squad**

**Bully Martin Squad**

_ TheUnforgettable: Oh Tiiiiiim~ _

_ Marto: Nooooo Sasha _

_ HoesTim: what’s up? _

_ TheUnforgettable: You were right!! Martin is writing love poetry. _

_ HoesTim: OMG _

_ Marto: SHUT UP SASHA!!!! I HATE IT HERE _

_ HoesTim: OMG MARTINNNNNNN _

_ LET ME READ IT PLEASE I PROMISE ILL BE NICE _

_ Marto: NO _

_ HoesTim: PLEEEEEASE _

_ Marto: NO _

_ N _

_ O _

_ NO!!!! _

_ TheUnforgettable: Ooooh, I had an idea!! _

_ Marto: Oh no _

_ HoesTim: oh yes _

_ TheUnforgettable: Martin, you should let your crush read the poem!! He’s always writing, I bet he knows a thing or two about good poetry. _

_ Marto: ABSOLUTELY NOT ARE YOU KIDDING????? _

_ HoesTim: Oooh so he’s a writer? I’ll have to spend more time at Smothered in Love, I wanna know who this mysterious man is _

_ Marto: Tim I will literally ban you from my diner _

_ TheUnforgettable: NO I WON’T LET YOU!!! _

_ Marto: Sadly, Sasha, you do not get a say in this _

_ TheUnforgettable: NOOO Tim I’ll help you break in. _

_ HoesTim: fuck yeah _

_ Marto: I’ll fire you i dont give a fuck _

_ HoesTim: OH SHIT _

_ TheUnforgettable: OH SHIT!!! _

_ HoesTim: MARTIN SAID FUCK SOUND THE ALARM MARTIN SAID FUCK _

_ Marto: ...I’m a grown man _

_ I can say fuck if I want to _

_ HoesTim: NOOOOO YOUR SWEET BABY EARS _

_ TheUnforgettable: You know you messed up if martin says fuck _

_ Marto: Better stop bullying me then, huh? _

_ :) _

_ HoesTim: why is that the scariest smiley face ive ever seen _

_ Marto: : ) _

_ HoesTim: ok thats even worse _

_ im scared _

_ Please dont actually ban me i love your food _

_ Marto: : ) _

_ HoesTim: please im nothing _

_ ill do anything martin _

_ anything _

_ Marto: Anything? _

_ HoesTim: pwease mr. blackwood, anything _

_ Marto: then perish _

**_HoesTim has been removed from Bully Martin Squad_ **

_ TheUnforgettable: HOLY SHIT MARTIN _

**_HoesTim has been added to Bully Martin Squad_ **

_ HoesTim: MARTIN!!!!!!! _

_ Martin: You had to pay your penance _

_ HoesTim: i _

_ you know what _

_ TheUnforgettable: What? _

_ HoesTim: if it means i get to meet this mystery man of yours it was worth it _

_ Marto: … _

**_HoesTim has been removed from Bully Martin Squad_ **

  
  


The next day, Jon came in later than he usually did. It was late afternoon and he ordered a stack of pancakes and a cup of tea. He seemed more tired than usual; His ponytail was messier than normal and the bags under his eyes were larger. He stumbled his way through ordering, and Martin felt bad for him as he watched him slump down in his usual corner. He put an extra pancake on the stack.

“Hey, Jon,” He said softly, not wanting to startle him as he approached. Jon looked up at him blearily, “Are you alright?”

“Hello, Martin. Thank you. I’m… I didn’t sleep much.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I uh, gave you an extra pancake.” Martin said, hoping it might cheer him up. To his relief, Jon cracked a tired smile.

“Thanks. I don’t usually get sweet things, but… I figured today could be an exception.” Jon shrugged.

“Glad to see you branching out.”

“Ha.” 

“Well, enjoy your meal. Try and get some more sleep tonight, yeah?” Martin said. Jon nodded, though it seemed more to reassure Martin than actual agreement. Martin headed back to the counter. He sighed. Tim was standing there, chatting with Sasha.

“Hello, Tim.”

“Howdy! Glad to know that I haven’t been banned yet.” Tim said. Martin huffed.

“You’re on thin ice, Stoker. Watch it.”

“Ooh, really scary.” Tim held up his hands defensively.

“He could gut you with a smile, Tim.” Sasha said.

“Thank you, Sasha.” Martin smirked at Tim. Tim pursed his lips.

“You know, I am starting to actually be scared of you.”

“ _ Good _ ,” Martin grinned, “Finally.”

“By the way, Martin, how’s the poetry going?”

“Oh. It’s, um. Well. It’s going.”

“Not well, I take it?” Tim winced.

“He still won’t let me read it. I was thinking about snatching his notebook while he was talking to his boyfriend.” Sasha rolled her eyes.

“Excuse me!” Martin cried, “He is  _ not _ my boyfriend, and I keep my notebook  _ with _ me.”

“Damn.” Sasha shook her head.

“Wait, so the guy was here today? Did I miss him?” Tim leaned in, face lit up.

“N-No, no, he’s gone, he’s not here, he’s-” Martin tried to say, but Sasha cut him off.

“Over in the corner,” Sasha whispered, “The one with the long hair.”

“Sasha!” Martin yelped.

“Ooh, he is hot.” Tim whistled quietly. Martin flushed.

“Shut up!” Sasha swatted his arm.

“What, are you jealous?” Tim smirked. Sasha spluttered, hitting his arm again.

“ _ No, _ you idiot, that’s  _ Martin’s _ man. No making moves on him.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Tim placed a hand over his heart. Sasha looked at him disbelievingly, “Really! I’ve already got my eyes on someone, you know.” He winked very obviously at Sasha, who rolled her eyes.

“Gross. I’m going back to work.” Martin shook his head. The two of them continued to bicker behind him as he went back into the kitchen. He couldn’t keep the fond smile off his face as he fell into step beside Georgie.

“What?” She asked him. Martin shrugged.

“Just Tim and Sasha being… Tim and Sasha.”

“Ah,” She said dryly, “Never gets old.”

“Yep.”

“Wonder when they’ll actually get together.” Georgie commented. Martin snorted.

“I feel like half of it’s just the will-they-won’t-they, you know? They’re just having fun.”

“Yeah, but it’s a damn pain in the ass to watch!” She said.

“You’re right,” Martin laughed, “You’re right. But it’s funny, too.”

“Sure is. Hey, what’s this I hear about poetry?”

“Oh god, has Sasha told you too?”

“Yeah. She seems really excited about it.”

“She hasn’t even read any of it!” Martin protested.

“Aw, come on, Martin. If you want anyone to read your writing, it should be Sasha. She’s good for advice, but she’s nice about it.”

“That’s true. I just- I feel like she’s gonna make me show Jon, and then-”

“Who?” Georgie asked. Martin sighed.

“Never mind. It’s a whole mess.”

“No, wait, what?” Georgie leaned against the counter looking at him. Martin refused to look her in the eyes. She nudged his shoulder.

“Fine! Fine. There’s this guy who’s been coming and- well, he’s…”

“You’ve got a crush.” Georgie filled in smugly. 

“Yes.” Martin sighed in defeat.

“Good for you! Crushes are good fun, especially if you get some nice poetry out of it!” She winked. Martin shrugged listlessly. She frowned, “Hey, I’m serious. It’ll be good for you, I think. I mean, you’re always so focused on this place. When was the last time you really got to know somebody?”

“I get to know people!” Martin protested, “That’s what I love about running this place! Getting to know everyone.”

“That’s not what I mean, Martin.You don’t take anybody you meet here out to  _ lunch _ .”

“Yeah, I know, I know.”

“Why don’t you let Sasha look at your poetry, yeah? Then maybe you can show it to your crush, when you’re ready. Just like, ask for his advice or something, no need to tell him what it’s about. Or- ooh!” Her face brightened. Martin raised his eyebrows.

“Oh no. I don’t like that face. That’s the Georgie-has-an-idea face.”

“ _ Yeah _ it is,” She grinned, “You could get Sasha to give him one of the poems. Say it’s from a secret admirer.”

“What? No way! Absolutely not, that’s weird, a-and creepy, and-”

“It’s cute! It’s not creepy.”

“No, no way, nope. Not doing that.” Martin shook his head firmly. Georgie pestered him for a few more minutes, but gave up after he refused to budge.

And yet, somehow, Martin ended up handing off one of his poems to Sasha the next week. He had the original in his notebook at home but he had written it again on a new sheet of paper that he shoved unceremoniously into her hands. She gasped and looked up at him with delight.

“Martin, is this-?”

“Don’t talk to me,” He groaned, hiding his face in his hands, “Georgie told me to.”

“Ooh!” Sasha gripped the poem and went to find Georgie.

Martin watched her go with a growing flush on his face. He sighed. Well, he couldn’t undo that. He just had to hope that it didn’t end in a disaster. Hell, he didn’t even know if Jon would be in that day. Somehow that was worse. He spent most of the morning with his stomach in knots, panicking every time someone came in, afraid to see Jon’s face. 

Eventually Tim came in, and noticed how jumpy Martin was.

“What’s going on with you?” He asked, leaning on the counter.

“N-Nothing!” Martin said quickly. Tim smirked.

“You’re a terrible liar. What is it?”

“I- I can’t. Just. Talk to Sasha.” Martin stumbled. Tim cocked his head.

“You called?” Sasha was suddenly beside him.

“Oh, thank god.” Martin said. He shoved her towards Tim and ducked back into the kitchen. He glanced over his shoulder as he went and his stomach lurched. Jon was walking through the door. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore his mounting nerves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boyyy are you excited to see what Jon thinks? I hope so!


	4. A Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon ordered and went to his usual spot in the corner. The whole time, he felt as though he was being watched. When he glanced up, he caught Sasha and the other man quickly looking away. He frowned. Were they talking about him? His confusion was… somewhat answered when Sasha came to give him his food. But then came more questions.  
> “Here’s your food! And you’ve got a gift.” Sasha exclaimed, placing his food down on the table in front of him along with a small sheet of paper.  
> “A… gift?” He questioned, picking up the paper? It was folded neatly in half.  
> “Yep!”  
> “From… from who?” He unfolded it. Sasha just grinned and held up a finger over her mouth.  
> “It’s a secret.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like before, Martin is Marto and Sasha is TheUnforgettable.

Jon felt a surprising pang of disappointment when he entered  _ Smothered in Love _ and Martin wasn’t at the counter. It was the other woman, Sasha, he was pretty sure. Standing there chatting with her was a man with dark hair and a blinding grin. He looked familiar, and Jon figured he must have seen him in passing in the diner before. He looked Jon up and down before stepping back. Jon cleared his throat awkwardly while Sasha smiled at him.

He ordered and went to his usual spot in the corner. The whole time, he felt as though he was being watched. When he glanced up, he caught Sasha and the other man quickly looking away. He frowned. Were they talking about him? His confusion was… somewhat answered when Sasha came to give him his food. But then came more questions.

“Here’s your food! And you’ve got a gift.” Sasha exclaimed, placing his food down on the table in front of him along with a small sheet of paper.

“A… gift?” He questioned, picking up the paper? It was folded neatly in half.

“Yep!”

“From… from who?” He unfolded it. Sasha just grinned and held up a finger over her mouth.

“It’s a secret.” With that, she turned and walked away. Jon watched her go, then glanced back down at the paper in his hands. It was small, torn from a notebook. He unfolded it and blinked. Written neatly in pen was a short poem with no signature.

_ Red and yellow streaming through the window _

_ Color my face, color the walls _

_ Subtle, subtle, till it’s not _

_ Color my feelings, color my thoughts _

_ Open door letting brown eyes in _

_ Chasing fog, my patience is thin _

_ But with the sun comes my mood again _

Jon tilted his head, food forgotten as he read the poem over and over again. It was… not the best poem, if he wanted to look at it objectively. It wasn’t  _ terrible _ , but it felt a bit disjointed. Jon looked up at where Sasha had disappeared back into the kitchen. Martin was standing at the counter now, not looking at Jon. He seemed to be talking to the same man Sasha had been talking to. Jon looked down at the poem once again.

It was… it had to be about him. But who would give him a poem as a ‘gift’? He didn’t really know anybody who came to the diner. It could’ve been Sasha since she was the one to give it to him, but somehow he figured she would’ve just said it was from her. Not Sasha, then. Martin? No, he was so busy running the diner that he likely didn’t have time to write poetry. Then who? He glanced it over one more time then tucked it into his notebook. He had work to do and food to eat. Besides, it was just a poem. He could ignore it.

When Jon got home that day, he’d almost forgotten about the poem until the corner of it poked out of his notebook when he put it down. He pulled it out and looked at it again. Though it was somewhat disjointed, there was feeling in it. It felt warm and genuine. He was truly puzzled by the thought of someone taking the time to write a poem for- about? Him, much less one so… gentle. It was flattering, sure, but raised many questions. 

He elected to ignore it unless it came up again, tucking the poem back into place in his notebook. He opened his notebook and turned to the page he’d left off on. He sighed. He enjoyed writing, but he looked forward to the day he didn’t work for Elias Bouchard anymore.

  
  


The next day Jon wound up at  _ Smothered in Love _ on his lunch break. He wasn’t particularly hungry, so all he got was a cup of tea. Martin arrived at his table soon enough with tea in hand. Jon accepted it gratefully.

“How are you today, Jon?” He asked brightly. Jon shrugged.

“Fine. Annoyed at my boss, as always,” He answered. Martin laughed softly, “Oh, I, um. I’m not sure if Sasha would’ve told you, but someone uh. Wrote me a poem.” He said. He wasn’t sure why he was telling Martin.

“Huh.” Martin said, leaning against the table.

“It’s- Well, rather amateur. Not that I read a lot of poetry. But I don’t understand, why would someone write me a poem?” Jon said, more to himself than Martin, but Martin seemed to be listening intently. Jon couldn’t help but keep rambling, the thoughts he’d been pushing to the back of his mind surfacing, “Maybe it’s- maybe it’s not  _ about _ me, Sasha said it was a ‘gift’, that doesn’t necessarily mean-”

“That definitely means it’s about you.” Martin interjected, face a little pink. Jon paused.

“I suppose you’re right. I’m… not sure what to do?” He said helplessly, looking at Martin. Martin pursed his lips.

“If you want I can ask Sasha to- to-”

“No, nono, no,” Jon said quickly, though he wasn’t entirely sure why, “No, whoever this is, they’re harmless. Besides, I’m… curious.” He admitted. Yes, that must be it. He was curious, that was all.

“Alright. Well, enjoy your tea. And your poetry, I suppose.” Martin laughed. Jon huffed out something that could be considered a laugh.

“Yes, thank you, Martin.”

Martin left, leaving Jon on his own. He sipped his tea and looked out the window. The early afternoon sun filtered in through the window and colored the room a soft yellow. It warmed Jon’s skin and he took a minute to close his eyes and sit in it. He took another sip of his tea and hummed with pleasure. Jon relished moments like this, quiet and away from work. He got far too few of them, so he savored them when he could. Martin’s tea certainly helped. Somehow it always tasted better than the tea he made in his own old kettle that he probably should’ve replaced long ago. It tasted homey, just like all of the food in the diner. Just like the diner itself.

He supposed that if he were inclined to write poetry, the diner would be good inspiration. There was something almost ethereal about the way it cast light on anyone who walked in the doors. The soft yellows and rich browns reflected light in a way that made people’s hair glow and eyes sparkle.

As it stood, Jon was not inclined to poetry. So he sipped his tea, and stared out the window, and tried not to think about work too much.

Martin hadn’t been intending to write more poetry so soon. In fact, he’d been planning to ignore it entirely for as long as possible. It was… mortifying that Jon had read his poem. He wished that he hadn’t gone along with Georgie’s idea. And yet, some part of him felt giddy seeing the poem still tucked into Jon’s notebook. 

Jon had finished his cup of tea and paid, and was walking out of the diner. Martin watched him go, paying attention to the way his ponytail swayed across his shoulders. He tried not to sigh. He did not want to look like some lovestruck fool. Even if that was what he was, maybe, a little bit.

He pulled his notebook out of his pocket and scribbled down a few notes of things to remember for later, when he was writing.

_ Sway. Mesmerizing. Focus.  _

Martin opened his notebook as soon as he got home. He glanced over the words he’d written down earlier as he put the kettle on. Sway, sway, sway. Mesmerizing sway. That was something. He wrote it down.

As he made his cup of tea he tried to piece together a poem. Sometimes he was able to just barf the words out and end up with a whole poem, but more often it was one word at a time. 

_ The world comes into focus under your eyes _

_ Blurred lines fading _

That wasn’t quite what he wanted. He wanted to invoke the imagery of a focusing camera or something of the sort more, but there were too many words jumbling in his head.

_ The sway of your hair _

_ Mesmerizing me into watching _

Did that fit with the rest of the poem? It felt out of place. Martin tapped his pencil against his lips. He would keep it for now, to see how it felt.

_ I wish to be the window you gaze upon _

_ With such concentration _

_ Anything for your focus to be turned on me _

Now that, that was right. Martin felt strangely… known, under Jon’s gaze, but not in an unpleasant way. He just seemed curious, like he wanted to find everything that there was to find out about Martin just by glancing over him. Martin didn’t often find himself the center of attention, and Jon’s gaze made him feel an unfamiliar warmth.

_ The world comes into focus under your eyes _

_ Blurred backgrounds fading into obscurity _

_ I wish to be the window you gaze upon _

_ With such concentration _

_ Anything for your focus to be turned on me _

_ Mesmerizing eyes and fuzzy lines _

_ Lines of gray in hair so fine _

Now that was getting somewhere, Martin thought proudly. It still needed work, some sort of concrete way to end, but it was certainly better than the first one that he gave to Jon. Well, Sasha gave to Jon. He pulled out his phone to text Sasha. He felt a little less self-conscious of his poetry now, and he wanted her opinion.

_ Marto: Hey Sasha? _

_ TheUnforgettable: Hi! What’s up? _

_ Marto: Cna you uh _

_ *can _

_ Can you look over a poem for me? _

_ TheUnforgettable: YES!!!!!! Omg I’m so excited. _

_ Marto: Stopppp _

_ Okay uh _

_ Give me a second _

_ The world comes into focus under your eyes _

_ Blurred backgrounds fading into obscurity _

_ I wish to be the window you gaze upon _

_ With such concentration _

_ Anything for your focus to be turned on me _

_ Mesmerizing eyes and fuzzy lines _

_ Lines of gray in hair so fine _

_ TheUnforgettable: OMG MARTIN THAT’S BEAUTIFUL!!!! _

_ Marto: Thank youuuuuuu _

_ TheUnforgettable: SERIOUSLY!!! Is it finished? Cause my one critique would be it’s a bit of a sudden end. Oh, also watch out for the repetition of ‘lines’. _

_ Marto: Oh yep, ty, and yeah it’s not finished _

_ TheUnforgettable: Gotcha! Well, reading all that poetry has done you some good I think! I really love it. _

_ Marto: Thank you, Sasha. That means a lot _

_ TheUnforgettable: Of course! Lemme know if you add more and want me to read it :D. _

_ Marto: Will do _

_ TheUnforgettable: Are you going to send it to Tim? _

_ Marto: NO _

_ TheUnforgettable: Haha I figured you’d say that. _

_ You know he’d be nice, right? _

_ Marto: Maybe. I just _

_ It’s scary enough sending it to you _

_ TheUnforgettable: Fair. _

_ But if you change your mind, I really think he’d love it! _

_ Marto: Yeah yeah _

_ Unforgettable: Alright! Well, get back to writing, mister. _

_ Marto: Will do! _

Martin put his phone down and swallowed back a smile. He was glad Sasha liked the poem, especially since it did feel a lot better than some of the previous ones. He wondered what Jon would think of it. Would he like it better? Would he look at it just for the words on the page, or would he get the feeling behind them? What about if he knew it was Martin writing it, would his opinion change?

Oh no, that was not a good route to go down. But it was always a possibility. He didn’t know if Jon liked men or not. He hadn’t made any assumptions as to the gender of the person writing the poems which was a decent enough sign, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a preference. Or perhaps he did like men, but just not Martin. After all, what would a man like Jon want to do with him other than a cup of tea? He was so collected and focused, meanwhile Martin was… In short, less focused. No, that wasn’t really true. Martin could focus when he wanted to, but it wasn’t always on just one thing.

He had the diner, but he also had to keep up with his friends and write his poetry, not to mention the countless other hobbies that he hardly ever made time for. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but sometimes he envied people like Jon who were so focused on one thing. Although now that he thought of it, that was a large assumption on his part. He had no idea what Jon did in his spare time. He probably did plenty apart from writing.

Martin frowned. He really knew very little about Jon. That made him surprisingly sad. For all the times he’d caught himself staring, they hadn’t talked that much except in passing. Martin knew other customers much better than he knew Jon. That was to be expected, since Jon was fairly new, but still. He  _ wanted  _ to know him better, he really did. Next time he saw Jon, he decided, he was going to try to learn something about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally made it to some plot, how does it feel?


	5. Half As Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin rushed to the front counter, about to ask Sasha for the poem back so he could tear it up when Jon walked in through the door. He suppressed a terrified squeak. Sasha gave him a reassuring nudge, leaving him to fend for himself. He was about to snap at her, but Jon had walked up and Martin’s mind went blank.  
> Jon was wearing a loose gray button-up shirt with abstract eyes in various shades of blue and gray across it. Over it he wore a knee-length black dress with suspender-like straps. His hair was pulled back like it usually was with a dark red ribbon. Martin barely stumbled his way through a greeting, hoping desperately that Jon didn’t notice how flustered he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhhh I should say something here probably but I'm Super Tired ngl :)) Enjoy I guess!

The next day held no opportunity to learn more about Jon, much to his chagrin. It was another dreary day and the clouds weighted Martin’s mood down and kept it there. It was a slow day, with him in the front and Georgie working in the kitchen. He felt his brain come a little more into focus when Daisy came in through the door.

“Daisy! Good to see you. Your hair looks nice.” He said as she approached. She nodded in acknowledgement.

“Thanks. Just bleached it again.”

“Nice. What can I get you?”

“Bacon and eggs. Tea.” She said.

“Coming right up.” He replied. Daisy nodded and retreated to a table. He scribbled down the order and handed it off to Georgie. As he slipped his pen back into his pocket, his hand brushed against his notebook. He glanced around. Nobody looked like they were coming up to the counter any time soon. He grabbed his notebook and pen and opened to the last page. He hadn’t made much progress since he texted Sasha.

Poetry of Martin K. Blackwood, #4

_ The world comes into focus under your eyes _

_ Blurred backgrounds fading into obscurity _

_ I wish to be the window you gaze upon _

_ With such concentration _

_ Anything for your focus to be turned on me _

_ Mesmerizing eyes and fuzzy lines _

_ Lines of gray in hair so fine _

Something was missing from the end of it. Maybe he should rearrange something? And there was the repetition of ‘lines’ that Sasha had mentioned that didn’t sound very good.

_ The world comes into focus under your eyes _

_ Blurred backgrounds fading into obscurity _

_ I’d do anything for your focus to be turned on me _

_ With such concentration _

_ I wish to be the window you gaze upon _

_ Mesmerizing eyes and fuzzy lines _

_ Veins of gray in hair so fine _

_ Your view brings me clarity _

He frowned down at his notebook. Something still felt like it could be improved, but it was a better ending than before. He was about to try something new when Georgie handed a tray to him. He slammed his notebook shut and took the tray, face flushing. Georgie raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. Martin walked over to where Daisy sat, in the corner next to the old jukebox. He set her food down and she gave a half-smile.

“Thanks. What were you writing?” She asked, taking a sip of her tea. Martin scratched his chin.

“O-Oh, nothing much, just, um.” He stammered while Daisy looked unimpressed.

“Martin.” She said sharply. He squeaked.

“P-Poetry. I’ve been writing poetry.”

“Hm,” She took another sip, “What sort of poetry?”

“Um.” He floundered. He did  _ not  _ want to tell Daisy Tonner that he was writing love poetry. 

“ _ Martin. _ ” She said. Her voice was low and she glared at him. He sighed.

“L-Love poetry. I swear it’s not what it sounds like, I’m just- I want to practice my poetry, and-”

“I’m not judging you,” Daisy took another sip, “I just wanted to know. I like romantic poetry.”

“You do?” Martin blinked in surprise. Daisy nodded. 

“Don’t talk about it much.”

“O-Oh! Well, if you do want to talk poetry sometime, let me know!” He smiled. Daisy nodded, a near imperceptible smile crossing her face.

“I’ll think about it. Good luck with writing.”

“Thank you! Enjoy your food.” He gave a little wave and left her table. He felt significantly better than he had earlier in the morning.

He brought out his notebook again and opened it. He felt inspired to write after the conversation with Daisy. He didn’t want to keep working on the other poem, so he flipped to a new page. 

Poetry of Martin K. Blackwood, #5

_ Curiosity piqued in the crease of your shoulder _

_ The nod of your head as you watch _

_ What would I have to do to answer my wonders _

_ The taste of your name like butterscotch _

He had to stop writing because the door of the diner opened and another customer came in. Quickly he tucked his notebook away and put on a smile. 

That evening he spent a lot more time working on both poems. He wrote and rewrote and rearranged until finally he ended up finishing the first one. He sent it to Sasha to get her opinion.

_ Marto: Got another poem! _

_ The world comes into focus under your eyes _

_ Blurred backgrounds fading into obscurity _

_ I’d do anything for your focus to be turned on me _

_ With such concentration _

_ I wish to be the window you gaze upon _

_ Or the ceramic in your hand as you watch _

_ Mesmerizing eyes and fuzzy lines _

_ Veins of gray in hair so fine _

_ I could be the book bound tight at your fingers _

_ Anything to keep your attention _

_ I am scattered and yet _

_ Your view brings me clarity _

_ TheUnforgettable: MARTINNNNNN I LOVE IT!!! _

_ Marto: THANK YOU! _

_ TheUnforgettable: Look at you go!! _

_ Marto: aaaaaaa _

_ I have _

_ Another one? Or part of it at least _

_ TheUnforgettable: OOOO Can I see??? _

_ Marto: Sure! It’s unfinished tho _

_ TheUnforgettable: No worries _

_ Marto: Curiosity piqued in the crease of your shoulder _

_ The nod of your head as you watch _

_ What would I have to do to answer my wonders _

_ The taste of your name like butterscotch _

_ There’s stories held in the grip of your hand _

_ ‘Round a book and a pen and a sigh _

_ Uncovered them slowly, pulling a strand _

_ That’s it lmao I don’t have any more for this one :(((( _

_ TheUnforgettable: Ooooo!! I like the rhythm of this one. The food imagery is also very fitting, I think that would be a good avenue to go down _

_ Marto: You’re so right!!! I’ll keep that in mind _

_ Thank you so much _

_ TheUnforgettable: Of course! Any time :) _

A few days later, Martin handed off one of the finished poems to Sasha. She gave him a reassuring smile. He’d hoped that the second time around it would be less scary, but he was just as nervous as the first time. Every time he heard the door open, his stomach flipped. He started to worry as the morning passed. Jon hadn’t been to the diner in a few days, had he decided to stop coming? Oh god, was it because of the poems? Martin rushed to the front counter, about to ask Sasha for the poem back so he could tear it up when Jon walked in through the door. Martin suppressed a terrified squeak.

Sasha gave him a reassuring nudge, leaving him to fend for himself. He was about to snap at her, but Jon had walked up and Martin’s mind went blank.

Jon was wearing a loose gray button-up shirt with abstract eyes in various shades of blue and gray across it. Over it he wore a knee-length black dress with suspender-like straps. His hair was pulled back like it usually was with a dark red ribbon. Martin barely stumbled his way through a greeting, hoping desperately that Jon didn’t notice how flustered he was. He didn’t seem to notice, returning his greeting and ordering. After he left to sit down, Martin took a moment to focus himself before dealing with his order.

Jon had almost been sucked back into his writing when a gentle clatter alerted him to the tray being placed at his table. He looked up and gave a half-smile when he saw Sasha holding his food.

“I’ve got something for you!” She said, holding out a folded piece of paper.

“Another poem?” He asked, unfolding it.

“Mhm.”

“Huh. Thank you.” In his periphery, he saw Sasha nod. She left, and Jon turned his full attention to the poem in his hands.

_ Curiosity piqued in the crease of your shoulder _

_ The nod of your head as you watch _

_ What would I have to do to answer my wonders _

_ The taste of your name like butterscotch _

_ There’s stories held in the grip of your hand _

_ ‘Round a book and a pen and a shake _

_ Uncovered them slowly, pulling a strand _

_ Melting like buttery cake _

_ Your pages contain multitudes of _

_ Words like chocolate frosting _

_ Pulling me apart like taffy _

_ I’m certain it’s exhausting _

He suppressed a smile at all the comparisons to food. It was only fitting for poems from a diner, he supposed. It was certainly endearing, too. “Pulling me apart like taffy”, he thought that line was rather sweet(If you’ll excuse the pun). He glanced down at his own notebook and frowned. His work really wasn’t that interesting, but the mysterious poet seemed entranced by it. Perhaps it was the mystery of it for them, too. 

He tried to get back to work as he ate but his eyes kept being drawn back to the poem. Curiosity was bubbling in his chest, and he cast a glance around the diner, wondering if the poet was there. His gaze kept being drawn back to Martin for some reason. He was standing behind the counter, absently gazing at the door. 

A woman came in the door holding a few jars of something. She was short and had dyed purple curls. Martin perked up when he saw her, a grin spreading across his face. Jon frowned; he was pretty sure he’d seen the woman working in the kitchen before, but he didn’t know her name. He watched as she went up to Martin and held out a jar to him. Jon could more or less make out what she was saying from across the diner.

“I just made so much, I couldn’t possibly eat all of it by myself.”

“Thank you! I didn’t know you made butterscotch sauce.” Martin took the jar gratefully. Jon blinked. He listened more intently.

“I just kind of got inspired, y’know? Maybe it was the diner,” She laughed, “Butterscotch feels homey.”

“I know what you mean.” Martin nodded. The woman went behind the counter, likely to give some of the other jars to employees. 

Jon clutched the poem in his hands a little tighter. Was it just a coincidence that she’d made butterscotch sauce, or could she be the one behind the poems? He craned his neck, trying to catch another glimpse of her, but he couldn’t without being incredibly obvious. He folded the poem back up neatly, somewhat excited to have a potential culprit to the mystery of the poems. Of course, it could be someone else, but just the possibility made his heart skip a beat.

Martin happily made himself a bowl of ice cream and drizzled the butterscotch sauce on it when he got home. It was ironic how he’d written about butterscotch(albeit briefly) in his poem and the universe decided to give him some. He hardly minded; he loved butterscotch. 

As he ate, he pulled his notebook from his pocket and flipped back to the other poem he’d finished. He was really happy with it, he decided. It would be the next he’d give to Jon. His stomach fluttered at the thought of it. The nerves he got when he watched Jon read his writing had gone from agonizing to almost bearable in an endearing way. Of course he longed to sit down with Jon while he read them and ask what he thought. He wanted Jon to know it was him, know how he felt, even if the thought terrified him at the same time.

He wanted to talk to Jon about what he was writing. Did he like to read as well? Did he read poetry? Where else did he like to spend his time? What was his job, why was his boss so dramatic, what did he do in his free time? He looked like the type of man to spend time in a library. 

Martin could picture him running his hands along the shelves, looking for an ancient book to read. Sitting down with it, long fingers running lines over old pages. Tucking hair behind his ear. And then Martin pictured himself there, too, covering Jon’s hand with his own. Or maybe he was the one to brush Jon’s hair back. Maybe Jon leaned into his touch, maybe they weren’t in a library anymore. They were leaving, on an empty train car, Martin’s hands still in Jon’s hair. Maybe Jon was kissing him-

Martin blushed, taking another bite of his ice cream. It was all hypothetical, he had no idea if Jon liked libraries. Or if he liked his hair touched. Or if he wanted to kiss Martin. Probably not, but a man could dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanku for reading! I do wanna say one thing:  
> I'm trying to work evenly on all my various projects, but I have a lot of fics and comics in the works and it's hard to keep them all updated consistently. I've also recently taken on some pretty big responsibilities relating to all the stuff going on in the world rn, so I'm spread kinda thin.   
> I will do my best to keep this updated frequently, as well as other fic(s) that I've started or have been planning. Things may be slower, but I'm still writing! Anyway, thanks for sticking with me :D  
> (Also the next chapter is Chunky, as a treat)


	6. Misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon tried to convince himself he wasn’t going back to Smothered In Love because of the poems. Really, he wasn’t. He’d keep going even if he wasn’t getting mysterious poems, the food was good enough to keep him coming back. The poems were a welcome mystery in his otherwise dull life, though. Well. It wasn’t fair to call his life dull, not with Elias being how he was. But his work didn’t bring him a particular spark of interest, other than the fact that he got to write a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha so I mentioned in the notes of last chapter that I was gonna be busy. I mostly said that as insurance, just in case things did get crazy, but I didn't think I'd actually be too busy. But uh, here we are, 2 weeks later! So yeah, things got very busy and very stressful. There was a lot of stuff last week and this week I've had really bad writers block. Most of the immediate stuff has been resolved so I hope the next update won't be too far off, but who knows! I really hope the universe doesn't decide to throw anymore curveballs at me.  
> Anyway, that was a very long winded way of saying I'm sorry it's taken me so long, but I'm back! I hope you enjoy this chapter, I had a lot of fun with it.

Jon tried to convince himself he wasn’t going back to  _ Smothered In Love _ because of the poems. Really, he wasn’t. He’d keep going even if he wasn’t getting mysterious poems, the food was good enough to keep him coming back. The poems were a welcome mystery in his otherwise dull life, though. Well. It wasn’t fair to call his life dull, not with Elias being how he was. But his work didn’t bring him a particular spark of interest, other than the fact that he got to write a lot. 

The fact that he got good food and intrigue all wrapped up in a pastel yellow diner was certainly convenient. Even if the food hadn’t been good, or without the poems, Jon still felt drawn to it. Something about the large windows and Martin’s smile whenever he walked in the door just felt right. For a moment, Jon allowed himself to wish that Martin was the one writing the poems. He was handsome, friendly, and caring. But he didn’t strike Jon as a writer. Besides, he was pretty convinced it was the woman who had brought in the butterscotch.

She was short, shorter than Martin even, and had a round face. Her skin was a warm dark brown and her hair was deep magenta curls that came to her chin. She was, Jon decided, very pretty. He rarely caught glimpses of her as she came in and out of the kitchen, but each time he did he wished she would linger. She had an air of confidence around her, the way Martin or Sasha would move out of her way without so much as a glance if she needed to get past. Jon had also caught sight of her and Sasha teasing Martin about something on several occasions.

The whole staff seemed to be very close to each other. More often than not if it was late in the day and he came in, he would see Sasha and Martin bickering, and the woman in the kitchen would poke her head out to shout at them. There was another woman who worked in the kitchen and occasionally up front, too. She was a little taller than Martin, with brown hair that went a little ways past her shoulders. Jon was pretty sure her name was Melanie. She and the other woman in the kitchen seemed to spend a lot of time talking, from what Jon could tell. 

There was also another man who came in often. Though Jon was sure he wasn’t part of the staff, sometimes he would go behind the counter and chat. His name was Tim, and he’d caught Jon’s eye a few times. He was gorgeous, but Jon was pretty sure it wasn’t him. After all, he didn’t seem quite like a writer either.

That day, Jon was stationed in his usual corner. His head was aching from lack of sleep, and he jumped every time someone passed his table. Martin seemed to sense his nerves, wearing a placating smile as he approached.

“You look a little rough, is everything alright?” He asked, placing a cup of tea in front of him. Jon sucked in a deep breath.

“Just need a bit more sleep, that’s all.” He said absently. Martin nodded.

“Well, hopefully the tea’ll wake you up.”

“Mm.” Jon nodded. He hoped it would rid him of his headache as well. He took a sip and winced at the clink of plates meeting the table. Martin placed down a familiar square of folded paper next to the plates.

“You’ve ah- you’ve got another one.” He said brightly. Jon nodded slowly and picked it up off the table.

“Do you read much poetry, Martin?” He asked, barely looking up to see his response.

“O-Oh, um, y- I suppose so, yes,” He said, “Why do you ask?” Jon made a noncommittal noise.

“I’m not sure. I just- I’m not very familiar with poetry. I have no idea if this is- I mean, I write, but I really don’t know the first thing about poetry,” He shrugged, “I’ve never much cared for it.”

“Oh?” Martin asked quietly. Jon shrugged again, looking up at him.

“Mm.” 

“Ah. W-well, that’s unfortunate, seeing as…” He gestured vaguely towards the poem in Jon’s hands, “Um. Yeah. E-Enjoy your meal.”.

Jon turned back to the poem. He considered trying to clarify that he didn’t  _ dislike _ poetry, or at least not the poems that were given to him. But Martin was already gone, so he simply shrugged and began to read the poem.

_ The world comes into focus under your eyes _

_ Blurred backgrounds fading into obscurity _

_ I’d do anything for your focus to be turned on me _

_ With such concentration _

_ I wish to be the window you gaze upon _

_ Or the ceramic in your hand as you watch _

_ Mesmerizing eyes and fuzzy lines _

_ Veins of gray in hair so fine _

_ I could be the book bound tight at your fingers _

_ Anything to keep your attention _

_ I am scattered and yet _

_ Your view brings me clarity _

Jon found himself reading it over and over again. It felt very intimate in a way the other poems hadn’t quite managed. It was strange to be analyzed, broken into small pieces that a stranger found interesting. The words were soft and lay warm against his tongue as he mouthed them silently to himself. He wanted to know who was writing these so maybe he could give them a bit of what they desired. Turn his eyes on them with purpose. Make them feel a bit as seen as he felt reading the poems. 

He tried to imagine the woman from the kitchen sitting down and writing poems. In his mind she leaned her head on one hand and frowned slightly at the page and worried her lip between her teeth. She had a cup of tea beside her(Martin’s tea, perhaps) and was writing and rewriting. Her magenta curls fell around her face. He imagined her watching him enter the diner, ducking out of sight before he could say hello. His heart fluttered as he imagined her smiling at him.

She looked clever, like she could spin words together beautifully. But, Jon reminded himself, he had little proof besides the butterscotch. He would simply have to try to learn more about her, hopefully starting with her name.

Martin walked back to the counter and tried not to let his heart sink too much. Jon didn’t like poetry, that was fine. It wasn’t for everybody, certainly not! He knew that. Most people were neutral on it and he could understand how it could seem pretentious. But that just led to a whole other set of worries. Did Jon find Martin pretentious, even without knowing he was the one writing them? Or if he found out, would his opinion change? Or even worse, what if he thought it was childish?

He tried to school his face into something a little more positive as the next customer approached, but he felt a little bit numb. It was so easy for something like this to get him down, he thought miserably. Going through the motions with customers for the rest of the day helped somewhat, but it just meant that when the day was finally over he immediately dropped into exhaustion.

As soon as Sasha shut the doors, Martin sagged against the counter. He hadn’t been subtle throughout the day, not to someone who knew him, and she immediately came back and lay a hand on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” She asked. Martin just groaned, covering his face with his hands.

“It’s nothing, it’s stupid.” He said. Sasha’s brow furrowed and she stepped closer. Martin turned away, crossing his arms.

“Come on, Martin. You’re my best friend, I hate seeing you sad,” She said firmly, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“He- He doesn’t even like poetry.” He blurted, and as soon as he said it he felt his stomach flip again. Partially with guilt and partially with the stupidity of it all. It shouldn’t be ruining his day, but here he was, on the verge of tears over something so small.

“Oh no! What did he say?” Sasha said, immediately sharing in his upset. He felt a little better at that. A little less stupid.

“Never been much of a fan,” Martin quoted bitterly. Sasha put her arms around his shoulders.

“He… didn’t ever say he didn’t like  _ your _ poetry though, did he?”

“...No,” Martin said, wiping the corner of his eye, “He’s never really insulted it. Well, he’s called it amateur, but it  _ is _ .”

“That’s… good, I think?”

“But if he doesn’t even like poetry… I shouldn’t write anymore.”

“WHAT? No!” Sasha exclaimed.

“Well, not stop writing,” Martin backtracked quickly, “But I shouldn’t give them to him anymore.”

“I mean, if you say so. I don’t think there’s any harm in it, though,” She said, rubbing his arm consolingly, “And if you ask me,  _ I  _ think he likes them.”

“Sasha-”

“I’m serious!” She said, her hair falling over her shoulder, “I’ve seen him when he reads them.”

“No way.” 

“And he kind of… perks up when I bring him one.” She said.

“Stoppp,” He waved his hand, but she smiled gleefully.

“I don’t think you should stop!” She insisted.

“I guess I’ll think about it.” Martin huffed, shaking his head. He did feel a bit better hearing Sasha’s reassurance. Maybe Jon did like them, just not poetry in general. But he couldn’t deny that he felt discouraged. Maybe he’d just give it a break for a little while.

About a week later, Jon finally worked up the courage to ask about the woman’s name. He’d been into the diner a few times in the past week(with no new poems) but had been too nervous to ask. Sasha was at the counter that day, and he greeted her with a smile.

“The usual, Jon?” She asked brightly. He nodded, a bit surprised. He hadn’t realized he was well-acknowledged enough at the diner by anyone but Martin and whoever was behind the poems. Speaking of…

“Yes, thank you. Um, also…” He trailed off, slightly craning his neck to see if he could catch sight of her, “The woman in the kitchen. With the purple hair. What’s her name?” He felt his face get hot and prayed that Sasha wouldn’t ask why. No luck.

“How come?” Her eyebrows raised. She didn’t seem suspicious, though, just curious. No telling if she knew it was her writing the poems or not.

“Uh. I just. I think her hair is cool?” Jon grasped desperately for something reasonable, “I was just curious.”

“I’ll tell her you said so. Her name’s Georgie.” Sasha answered.

“Georgie. Right. Thank you, Sasha.” He said, a wobbly smile on his face.

He retreated to his usual table in the corner, mulling over the new information in his head. Georgie, her name was Georgie. It was a suitably lovely name. He pursed his lips. Sasha definitely knew who was writing the poems, but she hadn’t given any indication if it was Georgie or not. A sliver of a doubt wormed itself into his head. 

Thinking about it, it seemed a little unlikely that it was Georgie. He hardly ever saw her clearly, so unless she was staring at him when he wasn’t looking, he wasn’t sure if the observations in the poems made sense. But then again, it wasn’t as if he had many other options.

He was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of the door opening. Tim came through the door, striding confidently over to the counter. Jon realized with a start that Tim’s gaze had casually wandered over to Jon’s table as he approached Sasha. He hardly lingered long enough for Jon to notice, but notice he did. Confusion curled up in his throat. Why was Tim looking at him? Sasha glanced at him, too. Did they know something?

Jon cast his glance back down at the table, not wanting to look at them for too long and be noticed. Sasha knew, he was sure, but did Tim know as well? Was it some sort of elaborate joke, then? He tried to dispel the thoughts. Clearly Tim was friends with Sasha, it wasn’t suspicious that he came in so often. But he… looked at Jon a lot. Was… was it Tim? No, it couldn’t be. There wasn’t any evidence. 

_ There isn’t much evidence for Georgie, either _ , the little voice in his head reminded him. He pursed his lips. There wasn’t anyone else it could be, other than her. It had to be her. She was the only one there was evidence for, anyway.

A gentle clink sounded, and Jon looked up to see Martin quietly placing a plate in front of him.

“Oh, thank you.” Jon said, trying to sound like he wasn’t freaking out a little bit. Martin gave a tight smile and nod.

“‘Course.” He said, and quickly darted away. Jon blinked. Martin hadn’t even said anything to alert him of his presence like usual. Didn’t ask him anything. And once again, no poem. It was the fourth time in a week he’d come by and received no poem.

It was fine, of course. Georgie was probably quite busy(if it was her, his brain reminded him), and she didn’t  _ owe _ him anything. Still, he was surprised by how disappointed he was. Not only at the lack of another poem, but the lack of conversation with Martin. Why hadn’t he said anything?

Maybe it had been a rough week at  _ Smothered In Love _ , Jon reasoned. Then again, it hadn’t seemed particularly busy the past few times he’d been. He supposed that Martin had seemed a little distant the past few times, too. There must be something else stressing him out, Jon decided. Perhaps, he thought with a smile, Elias and Peter had come in and had another messy breakup. That was always enough to put anyone in a bad mood.

“Martin?” Sasha poked Martin’s side from where he stood listlessly at the counter. He turned to look at her.

“Yeah?”

“I really think you should write him another poem.” She said. Martin frowned.

“What, why?”

“I think he’s getting the wrong idea.”

“What does that mean?”

“He asked me about  _ Georgie _ .” Sasha said meaningfully.

“Uh-” Martin’s face grew hot, “Wait, what, why? How? What did he say?”

“He wanted to know her name, and said to tell her that her hair was cool. I think he thinks she’s writing them.” Sasha shrugged. Martin opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“I- Um- Oh no.”

“Yeah. So, like I said. Might wanna get writing. Or give him a hint. Or!” She flicked him, “Just  _ tell him you like him _ . Not that hard.”

“Hypocrite.” He said, frowning. Sasha flushed a little.

“Shut up.”

“No.” He smirked. She bumped his shoulder.

“Okay, point taken, but come on. You can’t just ignore him.”

“I’m not.” He protested. She held up a hand.

“Martin, I know you better than that. Just talk to him, please. If not for your own sake, for my sanity.”

“I’ll think about it.” He said. Sasha frowned, clearly displeased at how it echoed their previous conversation. After eyeing him over, she finally shook her head.

“Alright, fine. Do what feels best. But don’t leave it for too long, yeah?”

  
  


“Quit moping, Martin!” Georgie called as she walked into the kitchen. Martin’s head whipped around and he gaped at her.

“Pardon?”

“You heard me!” She said, “Quit moping. You’re bringing us all down.”

“Wh- Rude!” He frowned, “And anyway, I’m  _ not _ moping.”

“You are,” She accused, “The smile drops off your face every time that pretty boy of yours walks in.”

“I-”

“She’s right,” Melanie said flatly, “It’s torture. Either figure it out or get over it.”

“Okay, wow,” He said, “I’m  _ not moping _ . I’m just trying to figure things out.”

“By not writing anymore and not talking to him? Right.” Georgie scoffed.

“I’m still- I’m still writing,” He lied, “I just… I mean, he said he doesn’t like poetry. What’s the point?”

“At least  _ talk _ to him, good lord.” Georgie said, shaking her head. Martin pouted.

“Fine! Fine, I’ll talk to him today. Alright?”

“Good.” Georgie said firmly.

“Good. Right. Okay.” Martin replied. The nerves started building in his stomach as soon as he agreed, but he did his best to ignore them. Georgie was right, really, and so was Melanie. Nothing would be solved if he didn’t even talk to Jon. Still, it was daunting.

Thankfully, he didn’t get much time to mull it over because Jon came in early that morning. He looked almost as though he had stumbled right out of bed. His hair was down and he wore a thick orange jumper. He yawned as he came in the door and Martin’s heart melted a little. Martin noticed with a start that he didn’t even have his notebook tucked under his arm like usual.

Jon stumbled half-asleep through his order, and Martin thought faintly that he wasn’t sure Jon had even processed it. He watched as he stumbled into his corner table and practically fell asleep at the table. Well. That was something new he’d learned, he decided. Jon was clearly not a morning person.

Martin brought him his food, rousing him from his impromptu nap with a bright “Good morning, Jon!”

“Oh!” Jon jerked upright, blinking rapidly. He rubbed at his face, “Hello, Martin. Sorry.”

“No problem.” Martin tried for a smile, putting his plate down. Jon’s eyes ran over him, over the plate and his hands and then back up to his face. Martin tried not to squirm.

“No- No poem.” Jon noted, blinking again. Martin’s face grew hot and he scratched his ear.

“Uh, n-no. H-Haven’t gotten another one.” He said apologetically, watching Jon’s face carefully. He was clearly too tired to hide his expressions. If Martin didn’t know better, he would’ve said Jon looked disappointed.

“Ah.”

“I-Is something wrong?” Martin asked, desperately hoping he would say yes, that he missed the poems, that he-

“No, no. It’s just… Well, it’s been a bit, is all.” He waved a hand dismissively, any emotion erased from his face.

“I thought you didn’t like poetry?” Martin said, hoping to coax an explanation out of him. Jon swayed his head back and forth, considering.

“Well, I don’t read a lot of it. Always seemed… I don’t know, unnecessary?” Jon met his eyes, seemingly searching for confirmation. Martin said nothing, “But I don’t  _ actively dislike  _ it. I… It’s… endearing, I suppose. Even if I don’t know who it is.”

Martin felt a little shocked at that, trying to keep his face neutral but desperately wanting to run back to Sasha and Georgie and celebrate. Instead, he cleared his throat and stammered out an answer.

“I hope your uh… secret admirer shows his face again, I suppose.” He said. Jon looked down at the table. Martin started to walk away when Jon’s voice froze him.

“Wait. Wait! His?” Jon asked, realization dawning across his face. Martin’s blood ran cold.  _ Shit _ , he’d just about given himself away. He kept walking, praying that Jon would let him leave.

“Wait, Martin? His?!” Jon called. Martin pretended not to hear, power-walking back to the kitchen and hiding. There was no sudden ruckus from outside, so he assumed that Jon wasn’t actually going to  _ do _ anything about this new information. Not now, anyway. 

Martin’s heart was racing, and it was clear he was panicking from how Melanie was staring unimpressed at him.

“Did it really go that terribly?” She asked with a smirk.

“No,” He gritted his teeth, “I- May have given myself away. Kind of.”

“Oh no.” Georgie piped up from behind Melanie, but she didn’t turn to face them. Melanie cocked her head.

“What happened?”

“I- I accidentally referred to the person writing the poems as a he. So now…”

“Thank god he doesn’t think it’s me anymore!” Georgie let out a short laugh, “I mean, don’t get me wrong. He’s cute, sure, but I wouldn’t dream of stealing our dear Martin’s man.”

“Thanks.” Martin rolled his eyes.

“I still don’t know why he thought it was you. Why would he?” Melanie asked, arms crossed.

“I don’t know!” Georgie laughed, shaking her head.

“Sasha seemed convinced.” Martin shrugged.

“I believe her, but I’m glad there’ll be no more of that nonsense.” Georgie said. Martin nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter shouldn't be too far off, it's mostly written already so even if shit gets crazy again I'll have something to post.


	7. Coil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was another cold, slow morning in the cafe. The mug of tea was warm against Martin’s stiff fingers. He was sitting at a table with Daisy. His notebook lay between them on the table, facing her. She was looking it over with a sharp eye.  
> Martin tried not to panic too much. It was one thing to text Sasha his poems, but watching someone read them in real time was even more stressful. It was even worse as Daisy’s face was completely blank as she scanned the page. She looked back up at him when she finished, pursing her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo we get some Martin and Daisy bonding time!! And some flustered Jon >:))  
> And look at that, it hasn't even been that long since the last chapter lmao.

It was another cold, slow morning in the cafe. The mug of tea was warm against Martin’s stiff fingers. He was sitting at a table with Daisy, since he wasn’t technically working that day. He ended up in the diner most of the time anyway. His notebook lay between them on the table, facing Daisy. She was looking it over with a sharp eye.

Martin tried not to panic too much. It was one thing to text Sasha his poems, but watching someone read them in real time was even more stressful. It was even worse as Daisy’s face was completely blank as she scanned the page. She looked back up at him when she finished, pursing her lips. Silently, she slid his notebook back to him.

“W-What do you think?” He asked quietly. She tilted her head to the side.

“Needs work. The last one you wrote was much better.”

“I know,” He sighed, “I just… I lost inspiration for a bit, you know? I was just sad.”

“Then write about that.” Daisy said simply. Martin blinked.

“What?”

“It doesn’t have to be happy and mushy all the time. You can be upset. Love is messy.” She crossed her arms and leaned back. 

“I’m not in- I- I guess so. Yeah.”

“Mhm. Now write something.”

“What, right now?” He said indignantly. She nodded.

“I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. Don’t worry, I’m not going to  _ watch _ you,” She pulled out her phone, “I have better things to do.”

“Right. Fine.” He huffed. She cracked a half smile.

“Good.” She promptly ignored him, turning all her attention to her phone. Martin sighed. He glanced around the diner a few times, trying to gather his thoughts.

It was a bit of an ugly day out, and he decided that could be helpful for getting into the mood of it. Tapping his pencil against the table, he tried to draw up some of the feelings he’d had while he’d stopped writing.

_ Unintentional on an empty day _

_ Words spilling out creating a fray _

_ Inside of my mind  _

_ Flowers dripping out of my hands _

_ Disappointment raw and confused _

_ I am excellent at hiding _

_ Drawing back in on myself until _

_ You don’t even notice I’m gone _

Martin glanced back over it and frowned. The first two lines having a rhyming scheme didn’t make much sense, since the rest didn’t. Besides, it created an awkward third line that was short and out of place. He started to rewrite.

_ Unintentional on an empty day _

_ Words spilling out make my brain a mess _

That was better. It was much less clunky like that, he decided. He rewrote the rest of it and continued.

_ If you smile at my paper-thin words _

_ Will it chase away the clouds _

_ As they gather around my heart _

_ Or will the rain keep falling _

_ Will the inkwell run dry and your hands _

_ Tapping on the table grow still _

_ I don’t think I’ll ever know the answer _

Martin put his pencil down, glancing up at Daisy. True to her word, she wasn’t paying attention. Her gaze was blank, corners of her mouth occasionally twitching as she scrolled through something on her phone. Martin cleared his throat lightly. No response. He tried again, louder this time. Slowly, she brought her gaze up to meet his.

“What? Already?”

“Sorry. I think I have something? I’m not sure if it’s any good.” He said honestly. He truly never was sure until somebody else read his work. Even then, sometimes he found himself disbelieving.

“Give it here.” She said, placing her phone face-down on the table. He slid his notebook over and she took it. She let out a little hum as she read it over.

“Well?” He asked hopefully after what he thought was probably enough time to read it. She raised an eyebrow, still looking down at it.

“You were right, you are sad.”

“Wow,” He snorted, “Thanks so much.”

“No, it’s good. You conveyed the emotion well. Especially in the first part. I think the second part needs work.”

“I agree.” He said. Daisy slid the notebook back across the table. Martin took it and tucked it into his coat pocket.

“No more poetry for today?” She asked. Martin shrugged.

“Was kind of hoping to finish my tea without being scrutinized.” He said lightly. Daisy cracked a smile.

“Fair enough.” 

They passed the rest of the morning in a comfortable silence. Martin listened idly to the conversations around them, since Daisy seemed to continue staring at her phone. He didn’t mind, really. Sitting in pleasant company, even silently, was nice. It was a connection without too much effort. After how stressed he was about Jon, he needed some easy connection.

Anxiety sat like a stone in the pit of Jon’s stomach as he approached  _ Smothered In Love _ . It was a welcome beacon of warmth on a cold day, but that didn’t stop the flips that his heart did when he walked inside. Each time he came in he hoped for a new poem, but for about two weeks now, there had been nothing. It was past the point where he could say he didn’t care. He missed the poems. A little more resigned disappointment settled in his chest each time he came and there was nothing.

Despite that disappointment, he still came back every few days. The food was good, the atmosphere was nice, and… well, and there was Martin. In his mind, he kept coming back to Martin. As he stood at the counter and made his order like always, glancing around for him, it hit him like a brick. He had a growing crush on Martin and desperately wanted it to be him writing the poems.

Once he realized, he began to sweat. He tried not to visibly panic too much as he took his seat. It felt- wrong, somehow? Martin likely wasn’t the one writing the poems, so he felt a little guilty for falling for someone else. He knew that was ridiculous, he could have feelings about whoever he pleased. But still, his stomach rolled unpleasantly.

He cast another glance around the diner, seeing no sign of Martin. Now that he had somewhat realized his feelings, the disappointment hit him much more acutely. Trying his best not to sulk, he opened his notebook and got to work. 

Soon enough, Sasha arrived with a plate in her hands. She gave him a quick greeting as she put it down, and with it she placed a small square of paper. Jon brightened up almost immediately. Before she could leave, Jon cleared his throat.

“Sasha,” He said, “Sasha, who’s writing these?” He tried to sound as innocent as possible. Sasha’s lips quirked into a smile.

“I’m sorry Jon, I can’t tell you.”

“W-Why not?” He pouted. Sasha’s smile widened.

“Can’t tell you that either!” She said brightly, “Look, Jon, I’m sorry. You’re just going to have to figure it out for yourself!”

“But-” Jon started, but Sasha was walking away. He sighed heavily, then picked up the folded paper.

_ Unintentional on an empty day _

_ Words spilling out make my brain a mess _

_ Flowers dripping out of my hands _

_ Disappointment raw and confused _

_ I am excellent at hiding _

_ Drawing back in on myself until _

_ You don’t even notice I’m gone _

_ Will I even catch the faded smile _

_ That melts the clouds away _

_ Or will they gather heavier still _

_ And let the rain keep falling _

_ Will the inkwell run dry and your hands _

_ Ever-moving grow quiet _

_ Against the spiral of mysteries  _

_ There are all my questions and _

_ I don’t think that they’ll be answered _

This one felt distinctly different from the others. It wasn’t warm, didn’t wrap around Jon’s shoulders like a blanket when he read it. Reading it was like taking a deep breath on a cold day and feeling freezing air in his lungs, bitter and sharp.

In some ways, it resonated with the way Jon had been feeling the past few weeks. A confused, sudden absence of something he hadn’t noticed he liked so much. The first few lines in particular stood out to him, a bright flash of feeling against an otherwise achingly empty canvas. Though it was reassuring to be holding a poem in his hands again, the difference was acute. He could only hope that whoever his admirer was(was it right to call him that? Jon didn’t know), his next poem might be happier. If not for Jon’s sake, for the sake of whoever was writing them.

Jon might not have known who it was, but he wanted him to be okay. Reflecting on that, Jon felt strange. How odd was it that there was someone writing him poems,  _ love  _ poems of sorts, and he had no idea who it was? The only thing he knew about his admirer was that they were a he. It answered some questions, but brought up even more. Some small part of Jon’s mind shouted at him that it could be Martin, he wanted it to be Martin, but the better part of him knew it was foolish. He couldn’t have his cake and eat it too. 

Martin was kind, and handsome, and with every passing second Jon wanted it to be him more and more. But he always seemed so focused on working at the diner. He seemed like he would prefer talking to people and telling stories that way rather than writing things down. Of course, that was just his own assumptions once again. Jon’s head spun, trying to outsmart himself in a desperate attempt not to feel disappointed about the identity of the poet.

He distracted himself from thoughts about Martin by glancing back around the diner. Sasha had returned to the front counter and was chatting with Tim. They were laughing about something, rather loudly. Tim was gesturing widely as he grinned at her. Jon realized he was staring, but he didn’t draw his eyes away in time.

The laughter died on Tim’s lips as their gazes met. Jon froze. He was sure his face was flushed dark red, but he found he couldn’t look away. Tim’s smile hadn’t even faltered, and he quirked an eyebrow. Jon ducked his head in mortification. Tim had seen him  _ obviously staring _ , but hadn’t seemed bothered in the slightest. Was it… was it him? It was a possibility he’d turned over in his mind a few times, never seriously, though it now seemed the most likely option.

From what Jon had seen, Tim was lively and outgoing. In Jon’s mind it took a certain degree of confidence to give your poetry to a stranger. Tim certainly exuded confidence. It wasn’t quite the gentle persona that the poet seemed to present, but people often presented themselves quite differently to how they were internally. Perhaps that was what he meant by “ _ I am excellent at hiding _ ”. Jon could certainly relate to retreating into himself and not expressing how he truly felt.

Jon tried to remember all the times he’d seen Tim at the diner. There had certainly been times where he wasn’t there and Jon had gotten a poem. He reasoned that he could’ve passed it off to Sasha or Martin another day when Jon wasn’t there. Tim also… looked at him a lot. That immediately made him suspicious. Many times when he arrived, if Tim was at the counter he’d cast a glance Jon’s way before stepping to the side.

He was clearly friends with Sasha and Martin, so it would be reasonable for him to ask them to deliver the poems for him. Jon dared another look at the counter through the corner of his eyes. Tim wasn’t there anymore, and a quick glance told Jon he hadn’t left, he’d just sat down at a table. He was sitting alone, sipping a cup of tea. Jon let his eyes wander over the man.

Tim was certainly attractive, there wasn’t any question about that. And if he was the one writing the poems, Jon had to admit that it was more than a little enticing. He’d never been much for poetry as he’d told Martin, but there was something very intimate about the poetry. Not knowing if it was him or not made it difficult for Jon to properly judge his feelings. 

Jon nervously finished his food and bundled himself out of the door. He took the long route to work, since he still had plenty of time. His head was a mess of confusion as he ran his thumb along the creased paper in his pocket. All he could think about was Martin and Tim and the poems. It was too much to wrap his brain around, especially having recently been under the impression that it was Georgie writing them. 

There was that guilt again, hot and bubbling when he thought about Martin. When he wanted it to be Martin. When he didn’t want it to be Tim. It wasn’t like he disliked Tim, but he just didn’t know him. Other than the poems, he supposed, if they were his. If it was Tim, he supposed he knew him better than he knew Martin. But there was something about Martin that kept drawing him back. It was his passion, Jon thought. Of all the times he’d come in, if Martin was there he always had a smile on his face. More often than not it was even genuine. He always chatted with everyone at the counter, and sometimes at their tables too. In some ways it made Jon feel… less special, since Martin gave the same attention to everyone. But he was good at making it feel real. Maybe Jon could even convince himself it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter's gonna be a doozy. We might also be approaching the end! It'll probably be only 2 or 3 more chapters, but we shall see!


	8. Exchanges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon wrapped his sweater a little tighter around himself as he walked down the street. The fog obscured the end of the street but he knew what was waiting for him; the bright yellow awning of the familiar diner. As he got closer it came into view and he sighed with relief. He was exhausted from work and was looking forward to spending his evening somewhere quiet and pleasant. Despite how the cold cut through his wide-knit sweater, it did nothing to wake him up and his eyes were drifting closed as he pulled the door open. Instead of being greeted by the soft music and chatter the diner usually held, what faced him was much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a fun one imo, I hope you enjoy!

Jon wrapped his sweater a little tighter around himself as he walked down the street. The fog obscured the end of the street but he knew what was waiting for him; the bright yellow awning of the familiar diner. As he got closer it came into view and he sighed with relief. He was exhausted from work and was looking forward to spending his evening somewhere quiet and pleasant. Despite how the cold cut through his wide-knit sweater, it did nothing to wake him up and his eyes were drifting closed as he pulled the door open. Instead of being greeted by the soft music and chatter the diner usually held, what faced him was much worse.

All he could do was stand in the doorway and stare. Elias and his husband stood at a table, arguing loudly. Martin was standing behind them, looking just as shocked as Jon felt. Jon winced internally. Elias had left the office earlier than him; of course he’d choose today of all days to go to the diner. The other patrons looked uncomfortable, some watching with wide eyes but others turning as far away as they could. He had no idea what they were on about this time, but it looked serious. Their voices filled the otherwise uncomfortably quiet diner, and Jon tried to piece together what the argument was.

“-You know better than that, Elias!” Peter said, his tone elusively light.

“I didn’t think I needed you to tell me what to do.” Elias hissed. 

“I’m not telling you what to do, you just need to use your head sometimes! Christ, Elias, you’re not usually this reckless.”

“You want to talk about being reckless, do you?” Elias said with a venomous laugh. Behind them, Martin was looking more and more distressed. Jon wanted to step in but he was unsure what to do. He watched as Martin’s gaze darted back and forth between Peter and Elias. He seemed to be debating something in his head. Finally he sighed and his face turned stony.

“STOP IT!” Martin shouted, and the diner fell silent.

Peter and Elias turned their heads slowly to look at him, seeming every bit as shocked as Jon was. He’d never seen Martin raise his voice. Elias’s face contorted into a dangerous smile. Jon was frozen in place. He didn’t want to have to see Martin on the receiving end of Elias’s wrath. To his surprise, Martin took a step towards Elias, meeting his gaze.

“Get out.” Martin bit out, face still stormy.

“ _ Excuse _ me? Do you kn-”

“ _ I don’t care  _ who you think you are. Get the HELL out of my diner.” Martin took another step forward in a way that could only be described as menacing. It was… an unexpected side to see from him.

Elias stared down at him silently, glanced back at Peter, then at Martin again.

“NOW.” Martin demanded.

“Fine,” Elias said slowly, “Let’s go, Peter.” He cast one last disdainful glance at Martin and then turned on his heel. Peter followed him, and Jon sidestepped out of the doorway to avoid them. They didn’t even notice him as they disappeared into the fog outside. Jon took a step forward to avoid being caught in the door as it swung shut. The diner was completely silent.

“M-Martin?” He asked into the quiet.

“What?!” Martin said sharply, spinning to face him. His eyes met Jon’s and his face immediately went pale, “Oh god, it’s just you Jon, I’m so sorry-”

“It’s okay,” Jon put his hands on Martin’s shoulders “It’s- Are  _ you  _ okay?” Martin’s hands came up absently to clutch at his wrists.

“Am I- I- Yeah, yeah I’m okay. I just… I don’t like yelling?” He gave an unsteady smile. Around them, the usual chatter began to return.

“I understand. I’ve never seen anyone stand up to Elias like that, though.” He said. A little bit of color came back to Martin’s face.

“Really? I know he’s your boss, but  _ god _ he’s a prick. He deserves it.”

“Tell me about it.” Jon sighed. Martin laughed. It was a short, bright sound and it made Jon’s stomach flutter. He realized he was still holding Martin’s shoulders. He pulled away, Martin forgetting to let go of his wrists for a second.

“I- Um. What can I get you?” Martin said uncertainly. Jon couldn’t help but snort. Of course Martin would deal with Peter and Elias single handedly and then go right back to work as if nothing happened.

“I’ll just take a cup of tea, thank you.” Jon said. Martin nodded.

“Right, have a seat and I’ll be with you soon.” Martin said, brushing his hands down his apron and taking a breath to collect himself. Jon let his eyes linger for a moment, then turned to take his usual spot in the corner.

The window was foggy with condensation, and Jon rubbed a spot away so he could look outside. It wasn’t much use anyway; the streets were just as blurry outside. If anything, the fog was even thicker than when he’d been outside. He slumped into the corner where the worn seat met the wall. The chill of the window against his cheek did little to perk him up. Now that he was inside, the warmth of the diner beckoned him to sleep. He let his eyes drift shut for just a moment, fully intending to simply rest for a moment. They felt heavy, though, and he found it was too much work to try to open them again.

Martin held Jon’s cup of tea in one hand and a small plate of toast in another. He hadn’t ordered toast, but he’d looked on the verge of collapsing when he walked in. It was the least he could do. Besides, he’d appreciated the extra pancake previously. He weaved his way to the far end of the diner where Jon sat. His hand twitched, wanting to reflexively go to his pocket for the poem. His hands were full though, and Jon hadn’t noticed him yet.

“Jon?” He asked, placing the plate and cup down and looking at Jon. He was leaning against the window, and his hair covered his face. Martin suppressed a laugh, “Jon?” He tried again, a little louder. Jon twitched and a hand slowly came up to brush his hair away.

“Wh- oh, Martin. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He said, straightening up a bit.

“Long day?”

“Yeah. Nothing compared to what you had to deal with, though.” Jon said. Martin shrugged.

“Happens every so often. I mean, I don’t  _ like _ it, but I can deal with people when I need to.”

“Clearly.” Jon remarked, raising his eyebrows. He sounded almost impressed, and Martin’s face felt hot.

“Um. Oh, I have another poem for you.” Martin said, reaching into his pocket. Jon… brightened, like Sasha said he did. Martin tried not to be too excited.

“Oh?” Jon said, cocking his head. It was adorable. Martin nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling it out. It was a bit of a strange one, if Martin was being honest, but he had fun with it.

“Here you go! Enjoy your food.” Martin said, starting to turn away. It was then that Jon actually seemed to notice the plate on the table. His eyebrows shot up.

“I… didn’t order toast?” 

“I know. You just looked exhausted, so I figured…” He waved his hands vaguely, “It’s on the house.”

“Oh, Martin, let me pay, I-”

“Nope! No, no.” Martin cut off his protesting noises, trying to ignore the grin that threatened to take over his face.

“I- fine. Thank you, Martin.” Jon said. He looked a bit like a sad puppy. 

“Of course.” He said softly. Jon shot him a shy smile and Martin felt his stomach flip. He gave a final awkward nod and left Jon with his food. 

When he got back to the counter, he kept an eye on Jon whenever he could. He read the poem and Martin could’ve sworn his lips twitched into a smile for a moment. Then he sleepily ate his food and drank his tea. At one point he looked over at Martin and caught his gaze. He was about to look away frantically when Jon… Jon smiled. Martin’s knees went weak and he leaned a little harder against the counter to stay upright. He barely had the presence of mind to smile back, but when he did Jon’s grin widened.

A moment later, another customer came up and Martin had to look away, but he felt giddy for the rest of the day.

When the day was done, Martin took off his apron and gathered his things. The diner was empty, so he slipped his sweater on and grabbed his coat. No, not quite empty. He glanced around and realized that Jon had fallen asleep again. This time he was slumped against the table, arms crossed under his head. Martin sighed, half out of annoyance and half out of an alarming fondness. He glanced at Sasha, who’d come up beside him. She wore a knowing look.

“Go on then.” She said pointedly.

“Yeah, yeah. You and Georgie and Melanie can head out, if you’d like. I’ll wake him and lock up.”

“Sounds good.” She gave a thumbs up, slipping out of her apron and going to get Georgie and Melanie. Martin walked through the now-empty diner over to Jon’s table. Distantly he heard the door open and then shut as the others left.

“Jon?” He called softly. Nothing. Biting his lip, he reached out and gently shook Jon’s shoulder. He started, head popping up. His eyes were bleary when they focused on Martin’s face.

“Martin?”

“Sorry. I, um- I need to lock up.” He said apologetically. Jon’s brow furrowed, and he looked around.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I- I’ll go.” He shot up, stepping past Martin. 

“It’s okay, Jon, don’t worry.”

“I’m not usually- I didn’t mean to…” Jon trailed off, yawning in the middle of his sentence. Martin gave him a pitying look.

“Christ, Jon, how much did you sleep last night?” He asked. Jon looked at the floor.

“Um.”

“ _ Jon. _ ”

“I… did not sleep.” He admitted quietly.

“Jon!” Martin admonished, hitting his arm lightly. Jon gave him an apologetic smile.

“I didn’t mean to. I was working, and then… it was morning.” He shrugged. Martin shook his head.

“Good lord. I guess giving you extra food isn’t going to be enough. I’ll have to start coming to make sure you’re going to bed.” That earned him a laugh.

“I’d be all the better for it.”

“Mm.” Martin agreed. They walked to the door together, Martin grabbing his umbrella as they went. Outside, some of the fog had dissipated but the sky was thick with clouds. A drizzle of rain had begun to fall in the darkness. Jon winced, pulling his sweater tighter around his shoulders as Martin locked the door.

Martin shot him a concerned look. Before pulling out his umbrella, he glanced down at his own jacket. He had a thick sweater on underneath and would likely be fine without his coat.

“Jon, do you want to borrow my coat?” He asked. Jon looked down at him.

“What? Oh, no it’s alright, my tube stop isn’t too far.” He said. He sounded uncertain. Martin raised an eyebrow.

“Take the coat, Jon. You’re freezing! I could walk you to your stop, too.” He offered, slipping out of his coat. Jon opened and shut his mouth a few times. 

“I- Are you sure?” He asked quietly. Martin smiled exasperatedly.

“I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t sure. I’m plenty warm, anyway.” He said. He handed his coat to Jon, patting his jean pocket to make sure he still had his phonel. Jon slipped it on while Martin opened his umbrella and held it over the two of them. Jon shuffled closer to keep out of the rain. His arm brushed faintly against Martin’s.

“This way.” Jon said, turning left. Martin followed, keeping step beside him.

Martin shoved his free hand into his pocket as they walked and tried to ignore the sting of cold on the hand that held the umbrella. Jon was doing the same, tucking his hands into the deep pockets of Martin’s coat. Martin loved that about the coat, how many pockets it had. He could fit all manner of things in it.

The fog was dense, illuminated only by the streetlamps and the occasional car passing by. Martin wanted to start a conversation, but couldn’t think of anything to say. He was okay with silence, but this was the perfect opportunity to talk to Jon more. Eventually he cleared his throat.

“So, do you think Elias and Peter will get another divorce?” He asked lightly. Jon smiled.

“I’m not sure that they even had time to get remarried after the last one.”

“Suppose not.”

“Maybe they’ll ask you to cater their wedding. Do you do catering?” Jon joked. Martin shuddered.

“ _ God _ no, especially not for  _ them _ . I mean, I’m always glad to have returning customers, but I really liked Peter better when he was on his own. I’m not sure I could stand it if they have another argument in my diner.”

“Mmm. I’ll let Elias know at work tomorrow.” Jon said. Martin spluttered.

“No, nonono, don’t-”

“I was joking, Martin.” Jon said gently, laying a hand on his arm. Martin shut his mouth with a clack. 

“Oh. Right. Of course.” He hoped that in the darkness Jon couldn’t see how red his face was getting. Jon’s hand was on his arm. Jon was touching him, voluntarily. It was all he could do not to keel over.

“Ah, here we are,” Jon said, saving him from having to say anything, “This is my stop.”

“Oh.” Martin said. Jon stepped out from under the umbrella and looked at him, the remnants of a smile still on his face.

“Are you sure you don’t want your coat?” He offered, starting to shrug out of it. Martin shook his head firmly.

“I’m not cold,” He insisted, “Besides. It kind of suits you.” Jon ducked his head shyly.

“Thanks. Um. Well, I’d better get going. I’ll return your coat next time I see you, hm?” He said. Martin nodded.

“Yeah. G-Goodnight, Jon. Get home safe.”

“You too. Goodnight.” He said, giving a small wave as he descended the stairs. 

Martin stood at the top of the stairs for much longer than he should’ve, listening to the beating of rain against his umbrella. He swallowed heavily. Jon wearing his coat was almost too much for him to handle, combined with the fact that he’d just walked him to his stop, and he’d been smiling almost the whole time- His head was spinning a little as he made his way home. He had to tell Sasha.

Martin was still buzzing with excitement when he finally made it home. Not that he particularly minded, but Jon’s stop was in the opposite direction of his home. He took a moment to rub his hands together, wringing the cold out of them. Slipping his sweater off over his head, he made his way into the kitchen to make some tea. It was late and he really should’ve gone straight to bed, but he knew it wouldn’t be any use. His brain was moving too quickly.

The tea kettle began to whistle and he quickly turned off the stove, pouring his tea into a little yellow mug. He gave it a few stirs and then reflexively turned to where he’d placed his sweater to grab his notebook. Halfway through picking it up he remembered it didn’t have any pockets. Frowning, he patted the pockets of his jeans. Phone, wallet, but no notebook. He glanced around the room, looking to see if he’d already taken it out and not noticed, but then the realization hit him.

All of the joy and adrenaline drained out of him in an instant, replaced with cold fear. He’d left his notebook in the pocket of his coat. The coat that Jon currently had in his possession.  _ Shit _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:D  
> Next chapter is probably going to be the last, depending on how the timing of everything works out! Thank you to everybody who's read/given kudos/commented so far, I appreciate all of you so much!!! See you soon for the (probable) end!


	9. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin took several deep breaths. It was fine, it was fine, Jon probably hadn’t found it. The coat had so many damn pockets and it didn’t matter that he didn’t remember which one he’d put it in, because Jon probably didn’t use it. That’s what he tried to tell himself, anyway, but the panic just kept building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off uhhhh holy shit thank you so much for all the comments last chapter???? I checked in a few hours after i posted it and saw some and I was like aw nice :,) and then checked later that night and there were so many????? Holy shit???? I love all of you I literally cried tears of joy. Sorry for not responding to all of them, at a certain point I didn’t want to just sound like a broken record yknow? But I’ve read all of them and I’m super grateful. Also sorry it's been a Hot Minute since the last chapter, I've had some pretty bad writers block.  
> TW for a panic attack in the beginning of this chapter.

Martin took several deep breaths. It was fine, it was fine, Jon probably hadn’t found it. The coat had so many damn pockets and it didn’t matter that he didn’t remember which one he’d put it in, because Jon  _ probably _ didn’t use it. That’s what he tried to tell himself, anyway, but the panic just kept building. He wasn’t ready for Jon to figure out it was him, much less like  _ this _ . There were tears welling in his eyes and he shut them tight, trying to focus on his breathing. It was fine, it was fine, it was fine. He repeated that to himself over and over, trying to drown out the panicked thoughts that were racing through his head. His chest was tight and he felt dizzy as he desperately tried to breathe.

Eventually it was too much and he fumbled to open his phone, clicking on Sasha’s number and calling her. He felt terrible about calling her so late but he needed someone. The phone rang out for an agonizingly long time before there was the telltale crackle of her picking up. He set his phone down on the table and put it on speaker.

“Martin?” Sasha’s voice came through groggy and confused. He started crying out of relief, “Martin, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m- I’m really sorry for calling you so late, I know you were probably asleep I just-”

“Martin, are you safe right now?” He heard a shuffling of fabric from the other end. Her voice was concerned.

“What? Y-Yeah, yeah I’m- I’m okay, I’m at home.”

“Okay, then what’s going on?”

“I left my- my notebook- and now Jon has it and I’m terrified of him looking through it even though he might not even know that he-”

“Whoah, whoah, hey,” She said placatingly, “Slow down, Martin. From the beginning.”

“R-Right, sorry,” He sniffled, “Sorry. Um. So I walked Jon to his tube stop, a-and because it was raining I let him wear my coat. But I- I forgot that I put my notebook in one of the pockets, and he still has my coat, and-” Martin choked off on a sob, his hands sweaty and gripping the phone like a lifeline. He heard Sasha make a comforting noise.

“You’re worried that he found it?” She supplied gently when he didn’t continue. He nodded silently, then remembered she couldn’t see him.

“Mhm.” The thought of Jon seeing all his thoughts, especially all the messy first drafts and the lines he threw away because they were too much and too obvious terrified him. 

“That’s understandable. I know how personal those are for you.” 

“Yeah.” He wiped his eyes.

“Take some deep breaths, yeah?”

“‘M Trying.” He mumbled.

“Good. Maybe make some tea, too? Get your mind off it.”

“Oh, I made some a bit ago.” Martin stood shakily to grab his cup then returned to his chair, taking a slow sip.

“Listen, I know this is stressful, but there's not anything you can do about it right now. You should probably get some sleep soon. After you finish your tea.”

“You’re right,” He sighed, “I just… Yeah, no, you’re right. Can’t do anything but worry.”

“I’ll stay with you until you’ve finished your tea, if you like.” She offered. He smiled despite himself.

“Are you sure? It’s late.”

“I’m sure. You sound like you could use some company.”

“I- yeah, that would be nice. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Anything exciting happen to you lately?” He asked weakly. Sasha hummed.

“Actually, yes!” 

“Oh yeah?” Martin brightened up. He kept drinking his tea.

“Yeah! I’ve been meaning to find time to tell you. Uh, Tim asked me out yesterday!” She said. Martin grinned.

“What? Sasha, that’s wonderful!” He exclaimed. He could hear her smile through the phone.

“I’m really excited.” She admitted.

“Do you have plans yet?”

“Not yet, but we’re trying to find a time soon when we’re both free.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah!” She said. Martin drained the last drops from his cup and then yawned. The panic had drained away and now he was exhausted.

“Well, good luck to you both. I might head to bed now.”

“Good plan. Me too.” She said.

“Thanks for talking with me. Goodnight, Sash.”

“Night! I’ll see you tomorrow. It’s gonna be okay, Martin.” The phone clicked off, and Martin gave a small sigh. He put his mug in the sink to deal with the next day. After plugging in his phone he stumbled into bed without bothering to brush his teeth. If he stayed awake any longer his worry-filled thoughts would no doubt return. Luckily, after everything he’d dealt with that day, sleep came easily. 

Jon woke the next morning still slightly giddy from the evening before. Even though his mind had been racing happily, he’d surprised himself by actually getting sleep. Martin would be proud. 

Martin. Jon couldn’t stop thinking about him. His hands pressing the coat into Jon’s arms, the way he’d smiled and said that the coat suited him… He wished more than ever that the person who was writing the poems was Martin. Jon knew it was silly and he could like whoever he wished, but he felt like he didn’t have a reason. His reason was simply that Martin was sweet, and cared about people, and would give his coat to them without a second thought and would smile at them in a way that lit up the whole world-

Okay, maybe he was a little worse off than he thought. He pulled himself out of bed with a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. What was he supposed to do? He could wait until the poet revealed themselves and then reject them gently, then talk to Martin. He could talk to Martin first, and he would probably pass the message along to them. He winced. That seemed a little mean. He would have to go with the first option, waiting. It would be agonizing, but no more so than it usually was to be so close yet so far from Martin.

Jon checked the weather before he headed out of the house. It was going to be another cold day. He glanced at Martin’s coat, which he’d placed over the back of a kitchen chair. Guiltily he picked it up and slipped it on. He was too busy to go to the diner and return it that day anyway, so he tried not to feel too bad about it. As he zipped it up and started towards the door, he felt something solid in one of the chest pockets that he hadn’t noticed before.

He didn’t want to snoop, but what if it was something important like his wallet? It took some fumbling to find the actual opening to the pocket, but when he reached inside his hand closed on what felt like a small notebook. He pulled it out, and it was indeed a notebook. Small and black, with an elastic band keeping it closed. Curious, he opened it and flipped to the most recent page. Every few pages there was a page torn out. When he got to the most recent page, which was filled with scrawling and the next was missing, Jon’s stomach did a flip. The scribbling on the page was unmistakably the most recent poem he’d been given.

Jon ran back to his room and found the poem, lining it up against the neat tear in the notebook. There was no room for doubt. Martin wrote the poem. Jon flipped frantically through the other pages, seeing drafts of the other poems he’d received. His legs felt weak, so he sat back down on his bed, clutching the notebook. This… certainly threw a wrench into his plan. Martin hadn’t meant for him to find this, certainly, was it better to just give the coat back and pretend he hadn’t seen it? Should he confront him? What would he even say? ‘Hey I like you and I found out you were writing the poems, want to go out?’ No, there was no universe in which he’d be able to muster the confidence to say that. 

By this time he realized he was going to be late for work, but his head was spinning so much he couldn’t bring himself to care. Martin liked him too. It was too much to wrap his head around.

The next day passed in an anxious blur for Martin. He was doing his best to stay collected, but he nearly jumped out of his skin every time somebody came into the diner. It was never Jon, but that didn’t stop him from having a heart attack every time a tall person with long hair came into the corner of his vision. The hours ticked by without any sign of him. In the back of his mind he knew that was to be expected; Jon usually came in every few days, not every day. Martin couldn’t even tell if he wanted him to come in or if he wanted it to be another few days, but he hated the uncertainty.

By the end of the day there was no sign of Jon and his anxiety throughout the day had drained him completely. He locked up miserably and stumbled home. He made dinner and then went to bed almost instantly, not wanting to let his anxious thoughts take him over again.

The next day was much of the same in the morning. Jumping and twitching whenever the door opened, or if someone spoke too loud or dropped a fork. He was still drained from the day before so his brain was moving slowly. That afternoon the door opened for the millionth time as he was walking back behind the counter. He whipped his head over to look out of reflex and his stomach dropped immediately. Jon was walking in.

Martin darted behind the counter before he could be spotted and ducked into the kitchen to hide. Melanie clearly saw his panicked face because she raised her eyebrows at him.

“Jon’s here!” He hissed. Melanie snorted.

“Okay, great.”

“No, not great!” Martin said, “Very not great!”

“Why? I thought you liked him.”

“I do, but I-”

“Martin?” Sasha stuck her head through the doorway. Martin froze.

“Yes?” He said weakly. 

“Jon’s here, he wants to talk to you.”

“Tell him that I’m busy.” Martin squeaked. Sasha rolled her eyes but disappeared. A few moments later she popped her head in again.

“He says please.”

“I- Oh, good lord,” Martin groaned, “Fine, fine. I’m taking my lunch break now, I suppose.” He slipped out of the kitchen, avoiding Jon’s eyes. Sasha called after him.

“Good luck!”

Without looking at Jon properly, Martin motioned for him to follow. Jon did, and he led the two of them outside and down the street a little ways to a bench. He didn’t sit, though, and neither did Jon. Martin finally let himself look.

Jon had on a thick gray sweater and brown trousers. He had Martin’s coat folded over his arm and was holding… he was holding Martin’s notebook. Martin’s mouth dried. Jon was looking at him, face carefully neutral. Martin hoped that Jon would start the conversation because he wasn’t sure if he could form a sentence. Jon worried his lip between his teeth, looking down at the ground. Finally he looked back up.

“It was you,” Jon burst out, “It was you, writing the poems.”

Martin’s heart sank. 

“Yeah.” His voice came out barely a whisper. Jon looked just as lost as Martin felt.

“I- I didn’t know you wrote.” 

“Yeah.” Martin repeated. He felt strangely numb, and like he was about to topple over. Jon stared at him, still clutching the notebook. He looked down at it, then sharply back up at Martin.

“Oh- Sorry. I should really give it back.” He held it out in a jerky, nervous motion. Martin reached up slowly to take it. His hands were shaking. Jon’s eyes on him felt heavy and searching.

“I’m sorry.” Martin said, fingers closing around the notebook. Jon blinked.

“For what?” He asked, sounding genuinely confused. Martin barked out a laugh that was a little more bitter than he’d meant it to be.

“For this,” Martin waved the notebook, “I should’ve just- I don’t know. But I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to find out like this, I wasn’t ready and I just-”

“Martin, it’s okay,” Jon laughed. Martin stopped. He was- he was  _ smiling _ , that damn smile that still made Martin’s stomach flip, “I like them. The poems, I mean.”

“You what?” Martin squeaked. All of a sudden the numbness was gone, replaced by a nausea so intense he was surprised he was still standing. Dear god he hoped he was hearing Jon correctly.

“They’re lovely, Martin. Some of them need work, but that’s not- I mean, Martin, there’s just so much feeling in them. And I must admit, I… well, they’re quite flattering. It’s a bit odd to be dissected in such a way, but… you’re very kind.”

“I-I- You-” Martin stammered, “Y- Jon?”

“Would you like to go out sometime?” Jon asked quickly. As soon as he said it he looked shocked, as if he hadn’t been meaning to. Martin’s knees buckled and he reached out to the arm of the bench to catch himself.

“Yes,” He said as soon as he could gather enough coherence to respond, “Yes, I’d love that.”

Jon broke into a grin, and the knot of discomfort and stress in Martin’s stomach suddenly eased. He met Jon’s eyes and smiled too.

**_Several months later_ **

Jon rolled out of bed. Martin had clearly already left for the day. He went to the bathroom, washed his face, then padded out into the kitchen. An empty mug and a teabag sat on the counter for him, along with a folded piece of paper. Jon smiled and put the kettle on, then opened the paper.

Today is dark but I have a light

He sits beside me in the mornings

With pretty hair and prettier eyes

I tell him that he shines

His face alight with something

I cannot put words to but I try

He smiles and kisses my hands

And tells me it’s alright

Hope you enjoyed that one, Jon! It’s a little more freeform but I had fun with it. Have a good day at work, I love you!

-Martin

Jon couldn’t help but grin as he folded the poem back up and slipped it into his notebook alongside all the other poems. It was going to be a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooooo we made it!!! This was such a fun fic to write and has been a nice, fluffy distraction from the world at large lmao. Thank you so much to everybody who's read it, given kudos or commented!! I wasn't expecting nearly as many people to like it as this.  
> (Also I'm not sure how soon I'll start posting it but I do have a Very fun lonelyeyes au in the works so... if u like lonelyeyes.... yeah)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and I really do hope you enjoyed the final chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter will be a little longer, and shouldn't be too far off!


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